I have thought of inculcating a better routine for this month now. I am happy to have my poems accepted in a few magazines as I thought would be doing for the month of March and I am not writing much. So, it’s okay actually! So, each month I would sit along with my journal writing my morning goals and long term goals and then I would bifurcate it into various aspects like mental, physical etc..and so far I have accomplished a few of my monthly goals. This process helps me to clear out any junk in my head and I stay more focused and perform better in all aesthetic aspects.
Apart from this I practice morning pages in which I would jot down all the random thoughts without caring about the handwriting etc but it’s mainly about a clarity in the though process which is too imperative, I believe. Reading the book “The Untethered Soul” was one of the best books that I read last year. The book reading happened while I was in the process of writing my book Crimson Skins and reading such a mindful book gave me such a vivid imagery of what I need to work upon if I want to heal from inside.
What are your opinions about a healthy lifestyle impacting one’s future? Share your routine in comments, maybe?:)
I am nocturnal today, like roses building up on my arms
speaking language of Gods. The air is turgescent, dripping lust for words. lust for my beauty. I walk on the arch of windowsills with blue loops of eyes, tingling some sensation. Something unheard before. A voice of metaphors dissolving into my pharynx with lids open. To fly. To breathe.
I curl my lips like romancing with my poetry. With silence dancing on my bosom, sneezing and holding time. Swallowing my body. Words, a conjunction of sanity.
Rhythms and molten patterns of pain and loss. Acceptance and free breath.
I look towards the path of Equinox. Voices speaking untamed fire.
Fire and ice. Ice and pure breaths.
a birthmark & a taboo
i am a lavish smile of smirk
you incubated me & my head
with soils of murder and hatred
sins of monster & coal of coals.
to kiss your dark soul
i swim like a starfish,
concurrent currents floating
inside my solitary knee-bone see it, feel it, sniff it chop it. chop it. chop it
it Shall again appear with
half sun and half moon rays.
like a starfish singing,
unveiling the balmy metaphors
crooked though plumbed
in your anxious fingers of blood
in your anxious mouth of dirt.
My squinting eyes evolve and illuminate the seeds and seedlings of us. Germination and hibernation. It’s stillness spinning on my cracking bones and lips. Thunders push forward my footprints, marking sand and sand-dunes of time like a canopy or translucent umbrella of opaque dreams. It’s treacherous. Banal and vixen kisses to tell you. The door-knobs even pique and cringe if this bellybutton delivers abhorrence of time and scars.
I have been bitten and marked. Denouement spoke to my tongue. I had a liquid conversation with the hinges of my black bed and cottons of white pillow, it scared me like a colossal tornado.I had inexplicable seizures that year and was hustled with a silver spoon to keep me alive. And I survived and lived.
Sustenance mingles with the Universe to crack your spine always.
I tasted salinity and guns. With thorns and lotus opening up in my callous floral palms. These small, little white palms.
Tides often slow down and flush waters only after a big cyclone. And, I learned something.
I am a shallow bone of desires
burning in my own rivalry among galaxies.
Vinegar-faced my legs drool on my mouth,
Everything is opposite here.
When the earth rains and the sky listens,
the precise water-droplets of mercury,
churns my anxiety.
Where my war is my peace.
the hallucinations are my paradise,
poking my raisin breasts,
Osmosis of mind, osmosis of soul.
For everything is sustenance.
Watching the movement of emptiness sinking on my nostrils,
A part of Earth tremors inside my Corona of dismantling systems
With crooked pens, I still draw mundane loops of Reds and Black
Planets dance around my white waist
with slumbers of lilies stuck inside the windowsill
I leap and quiver, rebuking my seizure
For the numerous cracks now building under my blouse
Silhouette of Blueberries ruptures somewhere.
My eyelids become heavy and heavy
and the tears as my faithful companion
I sleep and walk and turn and weep.
Oh, my fingers shall be healed
and the knives of blood shall be washed
It shall be done.
It’s how we Survive.
Romancing with winter involves more than seduction to its frosty night. There is a pit darker inside the walls of a colossal ball of shadow. A shadow where skins of lost soul bloom. A pool of infinite kisses. The chills of silent lustrous night expand in the most imposing manner, like the feathers of peacock romancing with the rain.
The icing on the cherry-trees, the dew of the moon stuck to my window panes that resemble my naked face. Oh, I am beautiful.
Emancipation from the shallow hollows of palm, I see patterns of sweet nectar dripping from the sky, drip by drip, onto my cheekbones and I am a lyric once again.
The full moon shares its forlorn stories to my healing lips. I am a partner in solitude and war. It teaches me the art of sustenance—flourishing like the wild sunflower. The touches of laughter of the newly born, the spiritual talks of the old ladies, dedicate me more to the flowers of Winter.
I emerge from the last rains and beneath the elasticity of murmurs, I inhale potions of infinite joy.