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

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Scars of dreams

This vintage arm
is like a faded memory
a corpuscle
of streaming hope
the greys and the reds
a turbid of morbid dreams,
Scars slid, dancing,
they seem happy.
Scars are my baby now
forever, inside
my hallucinating body of madness.
pain is my adamant bowl of Ganges.
slipping between fingers of sickle.
Moist, melting inside somewhere
scars, you make me beautiful.


©Image and words MVS

Uproar



i have a body that whizz like a circus
 two eulogies of sanguine madholes
 clifts and wars of a drunk man
 Loss of vision.Loss of words.
 repurcussions produce hollows
 as deep as a cactus.

My knees producing floating ambhibians
 Almost inhuman.
 Slid my copious throat
 you will have two minds again there,
 savaging my body
 like it's a loss of nothingness.
 streaming hot heads of loss.

©MVS

The way it slips

 Life bleeds
with vacuum and spaces,
backwards, a concave slope
mouths of thickening slurps.
it confesses its leakage
each day, puncturing my navel
a forgotten momentum
of involuted threads
of rising and falling.
Life, bleeds and bleeds.
a copious bruise of camouflage.

©image and words- Devika Mathur/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



This poem is broken

restlessness spits the wall of death
in hunger & pain.
my body rotates like a disc
surrendered sound of music.
tip toed stigma, a struggle each day
insects sound screeches,
this wooden brain,
or an empty space of lovemaking.
call it anything.
say it names, zig-zag platonic voids
plastic belly button games.
sick voice of head.
call it anything.
a flower holds the world,
its a silhouette speaking of a grave.
____________________________________

©Mvs

A craving

I have a craving tonight
for a slice of sun
or moon- talks, in runs.
to decipher the poultices
hidden beneath and above,
somewhere between your lips
& paradise,i have a craving
for your love
as soft as petals of Petunia
a craving to count you
& your terminals,
your folds of skin.
i have a craving to
melt into you,
with skins kissing.

a craving to burn pan cakes
and smudge the edges against us
like a paper ball dancing,
silhouettes swaying,
to put my mouth on your tongue,
to suck your scars
& to incubate it with my
infinite love.


©MVS

end of #NaPoWriMo.


W O R D S – A N D- L O V E

if my fingers break
 with the timeline of chiselled cheeks
 of lust for words
 of hunger for hunger

if turquoise veins
 open up,
 longitudes of the fallen mind
 like the rupturing of seeds
 without a sound,
 a mindless game
 What it shall be called?

the itch on my legs
 on my lips of words,
 a lover of minds
 click: and a word appears
 like a magic or a sonogram
 What it shall be called?
 My cleaved mind
 or the love of broken nails.

©WORDS- Devika Mathur/ MVS

Pause

Strangled knots of colourless dreams,
 poking the inside of my mind
 smooth as a lullaby
 dark as your sins,
 it's a mercury dropping a dust
 into the mole of my face,
 melting, fidgeting
 with your callous hands,
 your callous words,
 the dirt is what stops the heat-
 The dirt is what fades a star,
 and the monsoon stops at once.
©MVS

A vintage truth

 

Image result for vintage photos

Photographs are blurred memories,
 of faked, chipped, plastered walls
 cracking like walnuts,
 eating its own body-
 Walls & bones dissolving
 inside the tooth of dust,
 memories can be fatal,
 if picturised or vandalised.

All memories collide inside flaky cheeks
 producing abhorrence of stars,
 photographs stick
 like a parasite
 to your naked soul
 & exposes the flimsy spots
 of your entire galaxy.
 Like the black spots
 of a beautiful bird.
 Wax droplets memories afloat.