Shades of emotion-the black-the red-the grey

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The Black

Hoops of the anxious soul are hanging in the most voracious way.I hear thunder, rustling silence.This is my first phase, anger.

The intimidating red eyes. The eyes of satan, they say. The faded shades of grey, charcoal, as my wrist remain crossed.

I put my wrist on top of my forehead.The sagging forehead.

The conundrum geography exists right here, sharply ecstatic.

Hot wax, profound depth, a lingering cold wave.

A dark, gruesome heart.

A ghost- like canopy of thoughts.

The Red.

This is a melancholic phase.

A lugubrious red sorrow shining on my pinky finger, the tales of the darkly skinned elbow.

the bends on my skin, my crooked skin.

the way sky forms uneven patterns,

leaving us bewildered of the richness, the great creations.

All I see is complexities, the bars of a collision, gateway of numbness.

A stoppage.

The vague dreams.

Now the heart is crooked.

The Grey.

A wave of cornered soul resists like the last droplets of rain.

Tiring yellow pages, not desiring to be read further.

Monotonous paths, monotonous tones, monotonous human.

I kiss my pain in a breezing way, hugging my own doleful pits.

the screams forms chains of comfort, the sky is indicating a pattern,

the crookedness is recovering into a deeper hole

name it comfort?Name it a bliss. Oh!Don’t name it.

As it’s still  a vivid hole, murky,

dark, distilled in my conscious, collided with my mindset,

it’s grey here, my palm is feverish

my eyelids are the coherence of deeper shades of grey

this is the phase,

this is the ultimate revival, mystical.



 

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Anonymous Bond

Indian-Tradition

Do you hear me breathing? In the moments of translucent air,
where our breaths collapses and cling onto each other,
where the crooked walls burst, like jackfruit ripening
purple colours pouring onto our bed covers here I breathe
contours of sparkling waters brushing my dead spirit, fully awake.
The screams, shouts, jingle,
And splashing of Ganges water on my shivering feet,
Awake, awake, awake.
Spinning the floor, spinning in your mind, do you hear me breathing?
I draw my gold carvings on your teeth, on your body
where the twinnings of winter tree is chopped,
You hear the chopping?
I extend my feet, they are poetry.
I extend my white cadaverous feet on your sturdy shoulder,
Do you hear me wheezing?
Do you see a lake of satisfaction splashed on my arms now?
Do you see, do you hear my red songs?
You are my canvas. You are my unnamed bond.



 

The way it is.

 

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image credits- Pinterest

A box of hidden muse resides in my heart. I try to hear the amorphous murmur the times I am cold in my warm blanket. The smoke and ashes brew a pool of blurry images, my past tales that plunge deep into my veins, unable I am to move. Numb my thighs remain, numb my eyes remain.

My room walls have gone pale, shooting bullets in my mouth, it hurts.

The conundrum scissors mock my caricature, forming turbulence on my ceilings, in my ceilings. Nothing erupts out but the insipid cold droplets of heartaches, drop by drop it falls on my fingernails, burning like ice, cold as ice, that is how numb I float in the horizon of duplex walls.

Like my chin resting on that eccentric needle, swords fighting producing my legs and arms, now they remain silent and here is the time, when the incumbent work is at a halt.

So I wither and wither.

 



 

My skin has another skin

 

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image credits- Suzan Neellis

 

 

I am anxious like the painting of Mona Lisa

Curated with my own jitters,

There is a platter of loss, rumbling loud inside

where the web of splinters corrode my skin

And you may see my second skin,

for pain is the language of skin.

The mouth of a cave is that invincible spot of the moon

so, the mouth resides inside my blood.

Where the droolings of grey skies touch my bare shoulder

screeching. ( the inside is the rupture of seeds, with no desire of flowers)

Total Darkness. Cold distilled blue.

Yet, the poetry of inside soul speaks an

array of hopeful rainbows.

© My Valiant Soul


 

Transparent Memory

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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.



 

This- Body- is -Truth

 

Color Magic #Brown | Ayami Kojima - Persephone
image credits- Pinterest

 

A basket of floral patterns started right here, from my proclaimed beauty.
I was beautiful, like a cast of Aurora on the Himalayas.
First, I learned and swallowed truth with honey, so was the birth of my eyes.
this deep, hazelnut mosaic eyes
My body contacted with the blatant Moon, who marked my naked body
with thorns, countless emotions of twists and turns
And I was carved with my first outcry, I walked the truth and devoured it
In a pool of bells and music, Bloodstains I see
piled up as dead leaves, choking my pharynx
loading my teeth,
so I spill….I spill the truth, the unsparing bowl of parasites
an invisible ladder of truth
and so the truth was born, inside my flesh
I inhaled the truth…decorated its scratch on my lips
for this body is a truth.
Screams, numbness, volatile bubble of love.

©My valiant Soul


 

Pastel-Dreamy love

 

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like colours of star-dust,
with pastels shade, devouring my deleterious thoughts
or the beatific sparkle in petals of morning sunflower
you paint me with the bottle of red wine,
the colours splashing on my skin,
on my waist till the moonlit drops
on my lips, drinking the mystical sweet nectar
cracking my nights to make a vivid lacuna
A lacuna of fondness,
the smell of sheets penetrate into my bones
lifting the veil of frozen thoughts,
like painting colour on a white jackfruit
then bursting the same
burst your touch on my forehead, burst your flow on my cheekbones
a crackling sound, a music of the symphony
Lion devours the she-wolf
A fight indeed, or the wild ocean of invincible smell
the smell of us breathing, Melody
Jingles of star in the galaxy
stroking us with quixotic flavours of cupid
Puerile streams of river now flowing on my sweet breast
on my lips,
on my refreshed eye
creating a new landscape, a landscape of roses romancing the wine.


 

Scars

 

 

 

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image credits- Pinterest

 

Beyond this cracking wall, in the horizon of that empty dusk,
I walk in the blues of protrusion of my floral cheeks
my mind scratched, my heart stabbed
A partition of a falling star and constellation of stars
a Meraki of a paper boat, if you know
I walk in unknown thorns, small, oval, sweet and bitter
if bitterly waves reside in this moment, I shall conjure my body
with naked dust
And that dust will still hurt my iris,
for my eyes has seen the deep red scar

© My Valiant Soul


The colours of your Love

Image result for deep paintingsPick up the long brush and dip it into the red colour, colour then stroke my body with the same, dip it again in that heavy paint, colour my waist till the moonlit drops and the new morning knocks the door.Take me in you, again and again, hold me hard so that my heartbeat stops, let me feel my oblivion as I breathe hard, now arrest me in your thoughts.The dimensions do not conclude at this level as I am still awake so take me back again there, make me free, make me wild.

The caress of you hands on my back is the strong fire that ignites my future wisdom, so show me your colour depth! Don’t stop thumping my mind, don’t stop making me wild.Hold your brush more tightly, colour my body all over again touching the lows, touching the peaks, then join the dots, make a statement.

This zone where I have been suffocated me since then, the brim of my love extinguished and disappeared like dark smoke, so discover the new delights all over my body, as  we luxuriate together.Take me to the wildest worlds, where our desires can collide, the fire could spark and the nights can be bright. Show me your colour, the deep passionate one and fill me with it till I break.




 

Drop dead beauty.

My flaky fingers hold my hope like the sacrosanct dusk, the better is my mind with the fall leaves, the turpid pick of the smoke, pulling strings impeccably, wretched you say?oh, I am just a maniac wandering on the ebb of tyranny, turbulence and war see the pattern?It’s beautiful though dark.

The puzzles cut my thumb,scars all over the white skin,
nourishing I call it
Jasmine, fresh flowers
the brutality spreads now in my eccentric jovial mind
straight in the pond of sinking lips
the pond of dropping diamonds.