swim across attest the pain sink into the lake of grief watch and convulse, the narration- the blue oblong face of emotions- it disappoints me each day, you and your flattery my small body, small, petite chin that thrusts no life anymore. Watch a face again, think about it, the slippery texture grains allover the body blurred, overgown opinions
I am sad flower today, trying to be the moon but the moon is always sad, I tell myself to watch the moving crowd to feel the concrete tree and the still landscape of stagnancy exists a pill of loss and convulsions all day long. -----------------------------------------
I have a book- Crimson skins. Read it if still you have not. on kindle, pothi etc.
I am happy to announce I have a poem in this beautiful anthology- Hecate Magazine.
Scissors often draw a diagram
On my cold slender hands,
A light peeks in, as if to tell something new.
A light
A hope.
A hiccup that stops another hiccup.
This light, a soft tune to my ears.
What do I consider this art of life?
A hummus stain on my sequin dress.
A quiet noise, inside my vase body.
It's interruption.
If a thing dies, let it be.
Let the hand sink.
Let the light go.
Let things go.
Get my book here-
Crimson Skins
The collarbone cracks open,
a petal of your name,
a thick cloud of lust
sounds that speak only of splitted grass
I see you
and I think oh 'home'
honey-suckled touch,
tongues:
tongues interwined into sheets of desire
of lukewarm, misted talks
about us and hopes to stay.
It is Summer now,
a season of orange hope,
golden grass grinning through the wind.
It is Summer.
I am inhabitated by the scent of it
that twirls my skin and turn it into faces of love.
I am a Summer-myself
bleeding through my cold sphere
daylight:
water on my toes
a gossip you all want to hear.
I am Summer for you-
for you to cling onto
for you to breathe the scent.
I am stoked to announce that recently Indie Blu(e) Published its another beautiful anthology Through the Looking Glass– which includes my poem about Mental Health as the theme was the same. I urge you all to check out the same here .
Have you read Crimson Skins yet?
If not please check it out on Kindke, Pothi, Amazon etc.
The sniff lingers between the hills and the mountain a sniff to overcome a dismay, a snippet of a saint through the threads of fragile life. Jasmine- a floral drop of snow now between my knuckles, rubbing against my pillow a cry for dreams, a lotus shaped prayer. Jasmine- a quiet nostalgic hope, prayers about fairies and daydreams, The sun and the waters, echoing wool of the sunburn. The sniff- my mother's voice an elastic memory of tales and despair.
I am delighted to announce that recently I was a part of an interview done by Pooja of Lifesfinewhine. We discussed a few aspects of Art in a short, crisp way. Head over to her blog to read my interview and all the lovely things she writes there and do show your love to all her blog posts.
the voice cracks in the summer sun
I hear things falling apart
underneath my door knob
behind the cobweb- almost gone now
i hear things decaying,
distorted as the morning yawn
the leaves so parched
the sun , cold and warm
there is a music that stops playing as i write this
the music that speaks about fallen dreams,
listless curvature of atmosphere.
stillness is what i observe 'stillness in my body, my toes and lips
the earth so happy and warm now
almost like a cerulean sadness
torn into threads of bruises
into diverse sects of lemon dried faces.
the hands so small and white
with my bosom hanging restlessly on the table.
there are things so peculiar occurring everywhere.
restless yet a still monochrome pattern of life
the poppies won't die tonight
I sense the drama through the bleeding faces again
the parched vase of you and me
the horizon of us-
a hallowing question to that equation
the fields seem opaque,
dreary, with white sunflowers
I run and burn
to sniff your presence
to sniff the existence
the love equation to the sky
and to things beyond
my feet seem to be the carrier of our love poems,
enthralled and quiet
almost like a woman lost in translation
Chips in frost.
cold barren
as if a tree unfolded a leaf so huge
the love rises
and sinks
and stinks,
it breaks and fills the spaces
with things so small
almost like a hurricane,
moths fluttering,
there is no place left to make love-
not between such damp sheets, at least.
But the thing is everything shall be depleted. This. Us and our stay. What if, I could hold the habit of loving you for once? My eyelids dipped in lemon peel thinking of ways to dream about you. The rooms that still roar about our love making. The walls still cracking a semantic, quiet low noise of our moans and fight. Erratic evenings, whereby we submerge our small elbows in the auburn breeze. I want to cling to the habit of just that. Your coconut hair, small long talks, talks so mellow and crisp almost like I ate my fruit bowl. To hold your poetic words and brown moments of paper noise is all I had dreamt of all this while. To stay connected to your face, slender neck always popping and mind / spring quartet. Nothing else. That’s my habit/ a ritual that I perform each day to listen to the music of things staying lost between us. The Art of a singular dialogue. A singular atom of love. A single You.
Napowrimo#2
Not just this:
there is excess of daydream floating around,
a toothless, opaque body of light
what do we name it?
A house full of sighs/ gasps/ swollen people
where objects assume outlines
But who are you? To raise a question?
The minute I saw you, I could not escape.
On the sea floor, a sea- bell tolling
A multi- coloured house without a boundary.
All i see is you leaking from sideways.
You, numb/ like the trees that stop growing.
Everything in you is blue and in excess
Blue lakes& lagoons
Blue islands in the blue lake.
You
Gathering/ grinding/ mixing
everything in excess but love.
I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it. Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
Hi all ! I am just planning to engage in a new aspect of blogging and writing my heart out. For sure, I will be doing poetry, Poetry is my heart and religion but for some reason I want to connect deeper and would love to dig in more. I would love to discuss Art in all forms here. Surrealism and things so related. I am skeptical these days about my writing a little so giving it a small hold but apart from that I would love to be tagged for anything new or would love to check out your amazing diverse blogs. Please hold onto my blog and keep coming back to my new aspects of blogging which could be a simple life routine, a few updates anything at all. I am taking an off from my social media accounts once again because I want to stay connected with YOU ALL TOO MUCH. Recently I did a collab poem with the stunning writer Lucy. Check out that here.
Attaching a poem from my collection of poems Crimson Skins. If you have not ,you can check out the same on all the major e commerce sites. Shared an Amazon US link.
My poetry is a portrait And there it bleeds with a straw of life slipping soaking a system of events day by day in the space of tectonic air. My poetry is stuck like a motif obeying no order no smell of fear. It stands on the wall and watches it all happening. A mouth like an operation room choking on all supernatural paintings floating, quietly transforming into noise
I am more than glad to have stumbled upon Lucy’s gorgeous blog and we both decided to do a collaboration together. Please read and let us know of your opinion in the comments. Show some love to her blog as well.
It happened again the dead sea full of dried emotions and the charm to write about withering winters happened again, from my arms to my toe nails with colors and with a paint- brush the knuckles are red due to migraine, the bosoms are sagging due to age. The concept of time throws my memory into a massive ocean of sins/ fears/ aches. And I think of myself as a soft folktale, lost somewhere, occurring due to occult or a greasy lovemaking. I count the days back and front to defy the mouth in exasperation to write about the shivering body. Madness is what keeps my soul intact, I can talk to my mind for longer hours often with dead bumblebees right beside me, here- with leaves falling upon my chest my mahogany textured hair clinging to a sad tree. (Devika)
If this is bliss, please don’t leave; silhouettes played by sculptural midnights is a song and dance of memory; the opus rises like god's rainwater of tragedy and embrace— it entrances my bones kneed into pride like a strange dream; a legacy of my footing in the stone, I saw it today in the past to defy the orgasmic cult, prime and prime shadows in the back of my mind, as messianic blood drops from my feet it had crushed the late moon on its garden bed, almost thieving the sleeping bear mentioned for its own season; the eucalyptus wilts in my asylumned winter, the violence within my dreams and the uncoiled warmth of the thorn into my side, claws into my first breath. (Lucy) Lucy's blog
Dear readers, How have you been all? Even though I write my poetry and words and keep on doing so many various projects to help the writing community and people in general why is there a sudden urge to relax a lot? I agree I need to take a pause. I believe in slow yet productive growth but somehow my mind is getting tired to easily due to all the works I am managing and no its not the stress that I have. It's something else. Anyway, I wrote a short poem about how I feel.
The air burns, with a punctured sniff. the breeze sits on my chest counting my eyelids, backwards and the body swells up without a notion of cold blossoms. The air petrifies my nail, the tears stink, often. It's the forehead, it's the arm or is it my lips that hallucinates? A cobweb, so brutal on my chin blooming like a flower. What do I call it now? The season of spring or a particle of dust.
The other day I thought of writing a poetry about healing About self- love, growth Nonsense. My tone is still abrupt, crooked, melancholic Orange like the winter sun My hands are yet pale. Yellow as the home cooked oil, The other day I thought of writing about memories that soothe me Motionless. About the barren walks Only to find how my head still bleeds The mind that has empty grass, Wild flowers not beautiful my friend, Everything wild is not beautiful for things need a foundation too. Everything I know is rust Everything I know is blue rain, Forgotten like the rains so beautiful Forgotten like the winter chills in the Summer. Healing is a slow process Coiling into a watery prayer.
I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it. Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
My days in afternoon are nothing like yours,
I spend most of it by bird- watching,
Somersaulting colors of the sky,
I sip my chamomile tea to prepare my mind
for the evening’s strangers visit to my head.
My days are nothing like yours,
I adorn my necklaces again and again,
repetitive rituals often act like a slippery therapy.
Quiet and nostalgic.
Moments of velvet sadness.
I end my nights by weeping a little more,
by diffusing some hot coconut oil in my lamp,
to cease the heartache with a portion of leftover food maybe
as insane as it must be.
These are the things I do, to protect myself.
I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it. Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
Bones indigo, lacking a piece of earth, inside your mouth of stars a tremor of zodiac signs Like a Taurus blooming.
You sprinkle lust on my bosom bubbles of thin colours, a 4 am moonlight sigh. Tender mouths of mud and water, unborn fruits of the ultimate kiss. This is us.
My hips now like a parched lake. I am made up of unpruned divinity, an untamed odorless shadow of sky between the thick sheets of a dark city.
Beautiful sun, how you grow all over me, with a swollen tongue licking my mouth, as if collapsing in his arms. Inside my mind, there is a temple. Rain Sun Earth I will crack my eyelids open, now.
----------------------------------------------- (I wrote this piece a long time ago) I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it. Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
