and you need to know
the music of love
silently, dripping from the sky.
Take your time
to know the flower,
the process of assimilation
mulberry touch of the warm earth.
Silence comes in surreal ways.
drink the nectars of blue lips.
Let it be,
the hanging clouds or your numb Cheeks.
Nature injects sweet nights often
disguised in a tunnel of metamorphosis.
Let it sit and evaporate slowly,
a skin so fresh and sublime, now.
A murder of a cold night
for grief is a slumber of dead skins,
The whole of purgatory is a lie of pale belching mouth.
Sip the nights now,
A tomorrow so bright, hanging on your verandah’s rope now.
Submissions for Olive skins, my very own mag for surreal artists is open now. Please fill up my mail with your beautiful writings now. Check out here for more info!
This picture you see is a firework,
a shooter of transparent memories.
A vivid piece of artwork, fumbling across my face
with veins growing up in the sky
outwards and inwards
a low key noise/ stammering through the delicacy of time/
Isn’t it strange?
The oval diaphragm painted so calmly.
I see this pink sapphire picture
and I see my eyes there,
holding green, surreal dreams of a colorful palette
A quiet breeze of stars.
I see this starry studded picture now,
vehemently sipping bridge of cold laughter,
This is my evolution now,
trees beaming in a subservience forest.
But then you never returned.
And something orphan slipped from my cheek,
A naked dance
full of black solemn love,
round and so full
of evening stars
sitting and sewing a song so pure unheard before
You never came,
so I announced my happy song
emancipating from the almond-shaped walls.
One such wall sits above my slender nostrils.
And then, I revolved & twitched like the galaxy.
a stain stuck to my dress of love.
Look at me,
goddess of rivers and hallucinations.
I create art with my this eternal sea.
A dance I perform today,
with a hiccupping sigh,
transmission lines pressed between my palms.
I am the goddess of Dance.
How many times do I need to die
to keep you awake?
A figure of wax evolves and quietly speaks your name to me.
Your tangerine lips,
a lump of sugar and clove
all dissolved in my ears.
What is your language of love?
You reach my body with chemicals gushing
until the body shatters beyond a dot of oblivion.
I part in five thousand ways,
so vivid and distinct,
A chalice of fiction and midsummer’s song.
I breathe you like a ghost now.
With a thermometer put on my bosom
and eyes chanting your name forever.
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A frequent dancing step of memory
so unique and feverish,
an operation of melodious thunderstorms
circulating/ watching a gluey stare
What is that white noise?
A stare, a semantic of laughter.
A cacophony of strange chemicals.
The molten rhythm of steroid heart.
I am blue today, dark blue.
nothing that remains inside excites me,
I am too numb,
with a shred of melted saint touch still wobbling,
Nothing that sits here stays.
A nullified happening of life.
I want to quieten my mind
and each day I would count ways to do that.
Popping pills backward / gazing at the starlight
until dawn slaps me all over again.
A memory of death fidgets with my tectonic body.
I become so slow.
slow like degrading with the earth.
I count ways to quiet my mind while writing this poem.
There is a drop of water on my palm which freezes my hand,
like a singular stem of the numb horizon.
Hush, hush, hush.
I see my reflections
dying in the soiled air that slips upon my lips.
Violet and brown.
A colourless dream often.
I want to rest quietly,
with no connections any more
I could stare a small spot on the ceiling
like a moth
trying to endure a lie.
My words are epileptic today
just like me, all wobbly.
I stand here in a sitting position like a lotus,
and my organs defy my breath.
This poem is a bizarre,
try not to comprehend anymore.