Recover

“If I’m honest I have to tell you I still read fairy-tales and I like them best of all.” –Audrey Hepburn, who would have turned 85 yesterday. #Refinery29

It’s like a sad part of my levitating body.
My fingers have a soft tendency to nurture, to sense pain.
and I sit on the lonely roads to pick up a saddened heart, to heal it.

sometimes, I have a feeling I am solid.
Solid like a vintage door, unbreakable.
Imperishable, who can swallow darkness inside darkness?
So, I produce light out of darkness.

I act like a mother to him, as well.
With clearwing moth like a skin of his,
sewing the gasps and sighs.
His body is made of a fallen moon, I believe so.
And at times, I am confused with the methods of love.

He is a rotating axis on my forehead.
he has leaked, the times I was leaking too.
And I kept quiet and sewed him again and again.
Like a silent prayer of pure holistic clouds.

I watch,
my clavicle stuttering with the omen of noises.
Nothing is a flattened lie, but a departure.
My eyes are anxious now, to capture your lilting lips.
I watch you as you get healed now,
as I protect you now.
You are now an absent face of simmering smiles of the sky.

#Napowrimo 3

 

A day like this

Oh! Audrey
Another day has gone.
I sit and pray like a maniac,
with a white smile, you can count on.
I prepare breakfast and prepare a story to tell.
I prepare so many wild things often.
Bricks on bricks, and soft wool of tales.
You left like a reptile in a hibernation.
with floors slipping beneath my china body.
i pray and pray. That’s what i know the best.

I once prayed during my abortion,
beating the sweats and my blood.
my blood was thick as a waxed cloud.
Oh, how i wish you stayed!

What is that flows and flows behind my ears?
A life. A full stop. An endless conversation with life.
Over the years I have developed a harpoon of olive skins.
Skins that are cleaved too.
They haunt me in moments of despair.
They haunt me in these bright shiny days.

And here I am sitting, sunbathed, moth running on this fungus swiveled hands.
Eating and flapping my heavy bosom.
It speaks beautiful anatomy to me.
Oh yes, it does create a map on my toes,
a map on my mind.
Here I traverse, sideways like a waterfall. A soft and a quiet one.
I am not in a sad mood today!
Autumn is my favorite season.
It speaks only the truth, the brown fallen truth.
And I swallow it like a sincere patient, popping a pill to be alright.

 

#NAPOWRIMO-2

Greys and black

Elis has a paper ball texture, crisp and crumpled veins of love. Her nakedness is the march towards the fruits of springs, countless motions of time. Her liquid lips, cryptic to herself. She neatly defies the existence of frailty.
The frailty of summer’s hope and frailty of meadows spring.

The heaviness of swamp and linguistic seizures weighs her down, sinking her hand and arm. Missing parts of reality. A cocoon of dissatisfaction. A body of uncountable heavy eyelids. Elis does not speak of her curves and eyes, she dedicates her body and sacrifices her tongue. Rituals of greys and blacks.

Elis curls up her lips like a slice of burning orange peel. Her breaths, heavy, dissected, summoned like a stone eating her tongue. Her thigh eating her faith.

Elis craves and prays. For solitude to be her only stay.


©Image and words -MVS

NaPoWriMo#6

As-You-return

Things return like autumn,
 with leaves, shades and colours
 as your mountain essence
 stick to my collar-bone,
 in the moments
 of nights, haze, dawn.

One by one,
 I circle around
 you, infinite-ball-of-love
 and soaked in your fingers
 and memories of the return,
 this mahogany burns,
 it burns as a bay leaf
 in segments and silvery parts
 I fall into parts,
 your demure pasture of lightnings,
 your mushy belly button
 your mouth of Jasmine

We made love
 to grow old together
 to be a single fallen star,
 we made love for your return
 where I am picked and loved,
 like a frozen pea,
 in your hand.
 And, I wait here
 for your return
 all like a wool,
 Fixation to occur.

©MVS

To my other half

i have swallowed the stars
in my tropical mouths of nostalgia,
coping the insanity, wireless tracks
with sweat and ink
ink and tears.
a blush of my cheeks
and seizure occurs
between our wild sheets
our vermilion warmth.

i sniff the old papers
to give me paper cuts,
threading a crisp jawline
point of felicity
& elision of this
moon dust heart,
i walk spherical
fetching your wet lips
wet mouth and language of Gods
i pronounce you my dalliance
& my nails clutter
in your toxin scent.

©MVS

#NaPoWriMo- 22



Time&You

Related image

I was the one
with bruises and stones
in my mirror-eyed reflection
a reflection of you, mother
the cacophony of time and hours
floating inside your eyes,
the heaviness of pebbles and rituals.
Your arm mocked your cerulean breast,
with its swollen stigma of memoirs
and some pictures, vintage.

I combed your concave mouths
of dripping forlorn fractures,
like a staircase bleeding
or a topology reversed and processed.
I am a soft song in your black-knitted bun
a piece of your chipped nail,
a sunflower, kissed and harassed
inside your turbulent head.

A cauldron, and a day full of nights
hid beneath your muffled chin,
a mole hanging beneath your shouts and dim- dreams.
Mother, you are a pool of madness
and a point blank.
Obscure, shadowy your tongue knits tears
and a sweet thread of touch, impeccable.

Sometimes, I glint in your orange censure
a pattern of love and you,
Your body is a dream.
and I fall in your loops of laps.
the uncontrollable seizures,
the uncontrollable laughters,
Scarlet red wires.
it’s all you, it’s all you.

®MVS

NaPoWriMo#15


The truth of this Skin

This Skin is transparent, like a stitch to spew,
 to flatter the moments of despair.
 The bruises occur,
 with an open mouth
 an empty sheet of braided dreams
 this skin claps and claps
 with a bowl of spewing lotus,
 and a hollow dripping hocus-pocus

Peppermint& honey drops
 with earbuds sagging,
 this skin melts,
 in the oceanic mouth of yours.
 Or this skin divides
 in my repetitive sins and sins.

I gasp and pray
 till my body collapse
 with a dying hint of clove,
 wafting breeze of paddy fields
 this skin smiles.
 Like polaroids humming
 in the crux of
 my immune skin.

INSTAGRAM- MY VALIANT SOUL

©MVS- NaPoWriMo#16

Cups, stains& cigars

I can fill your china cups with vintage memory of us. Where, i see you sipping my lips through the window sill, like a drunk sky & the tipsy moon. In the hitched- run of mundane lives, i drink your cheeks and mole, your legs & fingers like a mulberry pancake, frost often frozen. I like it that way.
i chew your scars with razor- electric nights of thor and acids. I do it anyway.

With a heart of a sun, i flip into your arms, cascading moments of dreams & dreams. Our bodies going wild fire, scratching depths to know the inner depths. The complete forest is lit.We run like mad currents, diffusing slivers of unborn kisses and future rain. We make love like the Himalayas, dwindling with the Pines or something more surreal. Something soft & crisp,the winds, the freedom . All knitted in my precious womb, my
place of togetherness. My thighs dance, magnets sucking my skin to cling me more. It speaks to me about your vintage cups, stain and cigars.
oh, i must be drunk now to sniff your vintage white shirt.

©MVS


The way- I am

do you remember the blues
penetrating my veins
of penumbra stoic
sheets?
your cutting voice of thunder
like a thorn poking
my chiselled neck & colour
my white skin turning weird
a stinking smell of appearance
& a missing map between cities.
cities of loss, cities of despair.

And i danced in the hollows of horizon
where liquids formed circles of numb rain,
you haunted me, ghost- like lemon peel.
and i peeled the layers, still & obvious.
With mercury dropping, lightings of heart.

( I am a sun- soaked, mosaic formation of wilderness & weed growing under your chin)

©Image and words- MVS

#NaPoWriMo#25


How I count my soul

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.


©MVS

NaPoWriMo#24