Exodus

 

Pinterest: jazxlove ☆☾After all,
the leaf shall die,
evaporating from the inner hemisphere of a tree.

And all that left is plastic,
a rubber ball
which might die soon,
Humans create temporary memories
and watch it detach.

Droplets of June nectar
in the dome sky
crackles,
with one stone eye.
And then you see a tunnel
that stares back.

A nightmare is black
spitting nothing, yet
glancing the beautiful fall.
Fall of things and people.

It is in the end when the soul falls,
whimpering,
drawing a night out of the sky,
uttering facts about the exodus.
It roams doused in silver buckets.

A spotless space

I have a place to myself,
where I die each day,
a cup of stale titter that
Diffuse my self worth in the corners.

I eat berries and walnuts.
Watching a ductile sunrise,
Slapping fingers of orange rust on my hip.
I see the magic growing.

It is afternoon,
I see thunder & stars simultaneously.
The wispy steps, smiling & morphing.

I have spot to cry to myself,
Winter tangerine,
A spot where my flat heart attaches to a thing,
Motionless,
Body apart.

The others move to and fro,
Catching nothing but a gasp of air.
I stare at the blue ocean,
Weeds growing,
Stories knitting,
I stare at this spot of mine.

A spotless sight


“I see nothing”- Virginia Woolf

There lies a bed of moisture.
purple hearbeats uttering a syllable of nothingness.
They talk about mad- men, apples and half eaten berries.

For I see wet pastures of land,
moist like mother’s bosom,
fresh and pure.
i see a dot placed in the universe,
a huge platter of yellow potatoes.

inked & full of a queer silence.
People talk of silence as a sin,
and this remains in your grave,
hoping for a tear of melancholy.

i see nothing across my windowsill.
a bird mocks at my crooked almonds,
a burned Poetry.
Or are the people burned around?

A pothole in the eye opens the pathways forward.
A tender desolation.

I am like a feeling of soft romantic fiction.
love that never stays. Brutal.
A panned picture of a pastel tree.
I see a hollow curvature of my elbow,
looking at the sight of black thread.

i see nothing. I am moving & absorbing
as an infant does.
The light shades are my paper prism,
clinging the arbutrus of your sacred space.

An evening star

hamsasyo

Observe the faint freckles between my fingers,
the red polka dot- a hum of my quiet anger,
slithering like thin sheets between two mouths.
lips- a place of complete soliloquy.

What do I see here?
A place of delusional spots,
hallucinations about a place like home.
So, I form a lotus with my hands,
a shape so pure, spitting shades of anger,
spitting again and again.

i form an Ode to the poetry,
through my index fingers, pastel skin blooming
and my knuckles rather happy.
This is a song I create, with a chest- brown light.

But then,
not everything stays.
Not people or letters.
But then,
then
i wrap my red poems amidst my lashes
and knitting them in my womb.
Something shall stay,
Here, amidst the wild eyes.

An update

Hey everyone!

So, I have been missing from WordPress from like an eternity due to certain reasons. I havent read anything here. I have missed reading and posting my poems both. I am just dropping a Hi here to know how things have been with you guys. I hope everything is going well with everyone.

Will be posting some poems soon.

olive skins accepting submissions- https://oliveskins.com/

Meanwhile, you can read my poems on my insta handle @myvaliantsoul.

A song so bright

Love this. One with nature, nature & me

and you need to know
the music of love
silently, dripping from the sky.

Take your time
to know the flower,
the process of assimilation
mulberry touch of the warm earth.

Silence comes in surreal ways.
drink the nectars of blue lips.
Let it be,
the hanging clouds or your numb Cheeks.

Nature injects sweet nights often
disguised in a tunnel of metamorphosis.
Let it sit and evaporate slowly,
a skin so fresh and sublime, now.

A murder of a cold night
for grief is a slumber of dead skins,
unkept, insoluble.
The whole of purgatory is a lie of pale belching mouth.
Sip the nights now,
A tomorrow so bright, hanging on your verandah’s rope now.

How do I smell poetry?

20 Quotes from Sylvia Plath

Step 1.

Enter a room full of dark metaphors,
Stir the analogy with the half baked synonyms trying to disturb your mind.
Stir further, this thought process so ablaze.
Wake up to small neutrons, amorphous floating protons,
Multiplying, quietly.

Step 2,
Unfurl your sins in each room.
Step by step, take a needle and start stitching your open wounds now.
A long stride of pulmonary sleep. Soak it and walk along with the process.
Ask questions to your mind and heart put together. And you are now in a maze.

step 3.
Overuse the electricity like a tether. Grab and chew the rim of power to grow like a diffused bulb. Follow the paths which never shook you, you shall never be lost now. You have landed now on the concave slippery object of your face. A soft daydream.
A mystic night. A lover’s touch.
You sit and see yourself here, like poetry melting nad sitting in your womb.
Here is home, now.
Here, you always can come back, now.