What we made out of Memories

Prompt- Forgotten Technology

This goes beyond the tampered noises that prevail today
silence ruffle under the sheets of abrupt behaviour.
If I talk,
let me talk to you about the mottled photos
of yesterday’s yellow sun
a wildflower blooming under my chin
spreading across the lunatic nights of hum
Death too had come on many occasions,
looking at your obscure spots in my album.
That did not stop there.
A ligament or two did rupture in the old records,
//Burning. Aching. Burning.//
The body became a range of toxins,
wild with a blue winged heavy eye.
These eyes would flip through rotten memories looking at the old telephones,
Looking at a thing dying so carelessly.
Death is an art- as I do not refuse the facts.
The days were simple on record players with my hesitation staying on top of it.
Loose wires of phones. Vintage blurred memories of hands and cupboards
Of lemons and the sniff of a heavy weighted lady
that filled my room
the time that taught of enormous voices revolving inside the gut.
Pain. A fancy circle of construction of mind.
I do not claim to sew the motion of consciousness here.
Take time to ingest a list of fury.
Screams through hard-boiled eggs and a toaster cracking between the unheard voices of the parents.
It stays in memory. Not in the old stained yellow book-shelves.
Few things travel through drama and enter into a raw state of reality.
A tapestry that hangs, looms in the gloomy corners of forlorn memories.

Memories are just memories

For memories does not spark my romance with life

Nor do they slip through the curtains of moisture.

All these years, even when I was a teenager,

I watered the dying roses and Orchids

Flushing a spew of lightning and rock salt

People became a mystery to me, leaving me stained

Behind the sturdy brown doors, a knobless door

And then began a veracious knitting

of words with emotions

I popped millions of pills, smoked cigars

Innumerable open wounds made me ugly, they said so.

Placid openings spewed disgust, Torrents powerful.

So, memories clasp you, twist and give a sudden twitch

They furl and embrace your naked soul,

Immersed in the droplets of blood and ink.

Memories are nothing but floating crisp memories.

©MVS

image courtesy- My Valiant Soul

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Memories

image- self

The heights often scare me
collapsing: with celestial bodies
galvanizing, molesting only my skin
crooked tree trunks, molten rocks,
reside in the outer rim of my stomach
The rituals die here each day, epileptic seizures,
the concrete blood vessels begin to spit,
spit and strive,
my narrow palm opening begins to feel,
spawling and missing.
At this point, I am a soaked kidney bean of hope.
The heights still succumb me.
I remember how I drew paintings of that daisy from my lawn
I remember a lot now for memories rest like an atlas inside me.
And memories also teach the momentum,
the possibilities of reading a pale tanned leaf.
Like a beaming flicker, a corrosive Sestina.

The Cleansing Ritual

 

Pinterest

 

A process that disintegrates my coral stomach system,

With an arrow of titanium and spits of black

I prefer cleaning your insane, archaic touch that made me dark

The splashes of oval bowls of coughs and stigma

That stick to my tongue, my very pink tongue

Coughs and coughs till you understand this cleansing

And the thought process merges with your berserk piquant

Barbaric iris of the eye

Oh, you plunged the cactus and the roses all at once

Into my fingernails, into my saliva

I spit and spit and spit

This cleansing is a seduction of rituals

It takes time and then the skin is immaculate and cellophane clear

I take iterative baths on Mondays and Sundays

Hot water gargles cleanses my gums and tongue once more

For you clicked mouths to my book of statues and clock bell

I rub my painted matt nails,

I rub my Skull,

I rub this proliferating blood vessel dipped in your memoir

Rub, rub, rub

Ah, eh,

I  am a puddle now,

A flush of an Orchid tint.

Tilting in my own dirt

Defending my own soaked raisin body.

Twines and wires of your smooth photos

still can be traced inside my jigsaw heartbeats

one by one, somewhere.

®MVS

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Mother, I see you.

pinterest

With hallucinating fingers of forecasting
I counted your skin and your mouth and I counted you

Your mouth poured water on my soiled heart, almost a surreal thing.
And you buttered my hair, my lips, my hips
with cerulean droplets of your vintage mirror.

I saw you taking vodka and pills while sobbing
near the cliff, near the swollen ebb,
near the Earth
to see him departing you and bisecting you
like old cassettes and used carpets
he played the keys of the mundane monopoly game,
Oh, I saw you circling your eyes
with oceans of thunders and clinging dirt

you ate so ferociously the whole dinner by yourself
like you wanted nothing but this food
and the platter was already full of brass and copper.
Mother, mother, mother
I see a soliloquy of sustenance sinking
right on the joints of your tongue
and extending deep down to your tottering chipped toenail

I have drunk the milk your poured me
rummaging the past bonds, the past sorrows
like the splitting of peas and dicing of peas.

I always wanted to surround you, Mother
And then, the time came I saw you emulsifying
Saturating and desiccating
With a cigar in your mouth, you wanted to bleed prayers
Ransacking these walls of thesis and soft love
you wished to melt and melt and melt

I sat and saw you, still scavenging your unsaid words
your love, your molten body
like Jaipuri studded skirts.
I wanted to weep and splash reality that day
in the spirits of my hallucinating verses.

But, you did not care Mother,
You melted anyway.

©MVS

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Concoction of Flavours

In the encapsulating shimmers of prodigious beautiful skins,
I am a traveller to time zone of your dewy skin
As the geometrical curves make my heart merry,
I count the ways of savouring your skin bites
like fine red sharp thread, threads of love
In the windowpane, I venerate you as my sun,
the Usher of sparkling twilight disguised
as your particle.
Half dawn, half dusk,
your skin is a beautiful myth.
The blithe seaside waves inferior to your footsteps
conjure my eyelids with your memories,
And I feel pepper, salt and sugar.
Your honeysuckle orchid calves
pay reverence to my naked skin.
I breathe the last night fallen star,
scaring myself like your texture
And so I am a basket of infinite part of you.
I am the other you.

-My Valiant Soul

Sacred Earth

image credits- Pinterest

 Like a distinctive shine, my heart palpitates for your convex smile,
the dewy lips romancing with a shooting star,
the prodigious forest inside my body receives a gust of fragrance,
your beatific touch that glitters my waistline, oh, my man!
Between lips and parched lips, resides a mystical cacophony
yarning a crown of butterflies to decorate my atlas of body
to receive the markings that spread through my milky breast
where the darkness vanishes in the monotony of time,
I smell my bed sheet, the spots you rocked me,
clinging on the jasmine night,
that gave an ephemeral shake, a tremor to our naked souls.
A thunder I produced, inside my poppy finger-nails
where I captured your aroma,
as a pearl of delight: my necklace
I want your immortal touch inside the folds of my skin,
sucking my tongue
residing in the interiors of my temple shaped body,
I have known moist cities and pale humans
putting a slumber to my desire,
And snickering to my crooked jawline
where the goddess even hides in cold evenings.
I have seen sanity, insanity.
I have been tattooed with thorns of roses
wrapped around my neck, suffocating, killing, devastating.
And here I survive in your crisp prism blurry image
turning around the previous thorns as a cultivated seed.

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Transparent Memory

In the vermilion threads of sunset rays,

 aberrant fireflies sparkled the molecules of tiniest grass,

the loops of a feather, imbrication of skin and lip

Aromas meeting raindrops,

the scent coinciding, intruding into the chaos of your numb eye

where the mind shackles see Apricity,

Eyes know the true palpitations,

Obscure stream of water

my lips that hold the shred of you

dilutes into molecules of your transparent memory,

for you are my abstruse, a diamond spark lost imagery.

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