Loop Of Hope.

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The world is a scorching lie, it gallops the light

swallowing the other half of a stale melon

climbing the stairs in a descending order

rubbing alcohol to one’s eye

the flaccid numb lugubrious eye

throwing dust in the basket of an old lady

And then cherishing the gaze of a falling star

crossing hair strands to form an impeccable knot,

I see, hardened rock in my navel, smothered like a beggar’s face.

The cryptic resonance, the elliptical sunrise

An egg-shaped lie.

Then, I see the light, white light adorning the dark background

forming patterns, jigsaw puzzles

Imbrication of susurrous paths, my eyelids wide open only

to scratch the remains of dirt

to pick up the lost child

and dancing towards the little loop of hope.



 

The sweet innocent Palm.

The shambolic evening sings music

With petals of petunia in my thigh

I mock at the hypocrite crowd

The masked souls, enough of charcoal tonight

I shall burst my bubbles of insanity you say, for I am home to wild hills

Where the temple bell sing jingles to my arteries

Sinking in my color, the eccentric red blood

Coinciding with my footsteps, filling the craters of my lipstick

Filling the lacuna of my hairline

Giving it an atom of granite

Splendid marks will arise from my delight soul kissing even your dark loopholes

Will you do the same? Oh shame!

I have the meraki of dark silence comforted as butter in my palm

My sweet innocent innocuous palm.

Dark-deep-cage.

I hear screech in my abdominal muscle

Lurking deep in my vanity of thoughts

My pillow talks the tales of absorbed tears

The white cover unravelling the bites, the thorns of forlorn chants

The crooked walls of my space shall direct the cave in my eyes

Deep, dark, lost all at once

My tongue feels the pinch as wound inflicted on a tree

I know the cuts, mincing of cherry tomato

Plucking of leaves, trimming the bush

Removing filth, shaking dust

Piling the dead flowers

Even if they wish to dip into the brutality of a numb cracked flooring of a dead house.

And I lie there, tongue-tied,

Stroking arrows of horror, the array of thunderbolts uptight on my white thighs

Watching it turn blue, darker blue and absurdly

All black.

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.



Chants of you

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The promise of high tide, the valour of blooming minds

in the blanket of stardust kiss

in the essence of my apron,

I carry thy words in my uptight hair bun

breezing the hopes, the yearning tongue in the air

Like I see a reflection in the consonance of my eyes

The paintings carved in my belly-button

like a deep slumber of a half-slept moon

establishing the prodigious words of skin,

the language of my pink tongue.

I see you as my dream-catcher sprinkling feathers on my soft breasts

on repetition, you collide with my heart

An Orphic diamond kiss on my eyes.

The daydream is ephemeral for you shall rock

me in the cradle of lavender fields.

As my hair strands say phosphenes chants of you.