I have no clue how to begin this but I definitely feel sad to see how people on this lovely community are showing lack of interaction on my blog. I understand, how I was not always there to read all your lovely posts as I was caught up in the releasing/ promoting procedure of my poetry book.
But I dont want my bond with my valuable readers to die out. I have invested my love on this platform through my poetry.
Please let me know if I can catch up with your recent works as well. I truly care about this blog, our community, our love for writing.
(In case you wish to read my book-Crimson Skins, you can check out Amazon and bookswagon.)
with our bodies colliding this night sings a song of petunia, a soft spring blooming behind our feet. A velvet yawn of a quiet afternoon.
The night is a tiny flower thumping against the sun-kissed breaths a hum of summer, a hum of winter.
The mouth dipped in the greasy elbows, a pathway to the flowering petals. Silver droplets of water, the body shrinks like a caterpillar now, sparkles of the rain, Too many screams now, too many abstract bodily postures.
This night delivers a tangled knot of whispers of leaves, like salt, the whispers rubbing our elbows, quietly. Hushed. A season of moist talks.
I imagine the day like a face of a woman,
the mornings so much defined
with exposures and brightness,
polaroids of crimson sky
and the heaviness comes like her mind,
i can paint this lady on my canvas,
yawns in the afternoons,
watching the food vividly left in the kitchen
she knows nobody
but a raisin stuck to her mouth
The flower would lust water by evening
and the lady would nurture it,
each color so distinct,
each seed – a subservience
each leaf unfolding unique stories
by night, light fades away
into a shade of something darker
of gentle strokes disappearing
flooding her mouth, her memories with aesthetics.
The heaviness puts her arm into a state of nostalgia
a perfect blend of papers & ink.
But then we know how things end
with a flustered love for trees,
half filled glass of all things love.z
And just like that
between the chorus of the bruised sky,
I slip my set of auburn love.
Sediments of galaxies and rivers
entwined between my outgrown fingers.
Seduction is a way of swimming across your mind, half awake.
These tall trees
perform tensions, fiction,
and a layer of loneliness shifts to the sea of the blank river,
I slide my head against your chest,
the ivory garland of future seasons,
the whistling of galaxies
Bluebells swinging in the thunder of our sheets.
My body shuddering like a torn cloth
arms howling in the wild air.
We lick each other,
a chant for dripping lust
and here I become full and warm.
It is past April
empty corridors of dreams
and I swell upon the memory of
There isn’t a sight that does not make me think of you
of your auburn burning skin in the heat-
a poem so soft on your lips,
it almost is center of all light
an inflammable kiss
with fumes coalescing into fumes of rainbows
The body rises from something so chalky beneath
an enormous restlessness
traversing nights and days
I wish to remember days like these
beneath my frolic skirt
above my trembling belly
I wish to swallow your blank stare
your stare that revolves like a tangerine sky
with leftover peels of my summer orange.
I wish to remember dry afternoons
with a song inserted in my mouth
a bee that rotates like a tulip
between our fingers entwined.
Like all things of love and soft music.
Of lust I must speak to you.
This body glows like a river
only too thin to bend over you.
Acknowledge the minuteness spread onto my face across the loose limbs that floats in the air.
Of beauty –
I come to you,
spreading a knob of orange garden
where the time collapse and stops for a moment.
This moment captures us,
to bind us for a sparkle of glory
Of Tongues and tongues
I dream of point of indulgence
A point that emerges from my bottom to your top-
Plants in the cold rain
like diluted streams of romance
You row in the nectar of my oozing moonflowers
Atop my bosom you sit like a wax
spreading an ensemble of winter dreams and summer breeze.
You do not stop there.
I announce carnivals in my womb.
It does not stop. It glows further.
Walls of the air do not crack
as there exist our stories lingering across the streets.
Our thin cucumber bodies/ oiled between a decade of romance
speak nothing but of arid lips and concave lust
The brooding sniff of the moon
to sink between my large womb.
She often speaks to me of you.
Your abstract ways of unraveling things
behind the layers where mockery hides.
To pleat the abhorrence of life,
your bones are my memoir.
my spot of expanded prints & rainbows..
Make me bend and scream,
your coral colour creaks on my tongue.
To the tress, I wish to announce
a twig suddenly has fallen.