A lost letter to my father

 

image credits- pinterest

Thunder,
if that is one big word
I want you to gulp it down.

My walls speaks of you
of a memory we shared
over the sweet sunrise from the balcony

Your percolating memories stir my throat
to think of our blue wise words.
I was always a pebble

a sweet, piquant attachment
from your dreams, father

a moist lost string of a pullover
that you always wanted to cherish.

I think of the sky
as I think of you
of infinite stars
of colours and oceans.

Of letters stuck to the neem trees
as I hold your this lost letter.

Thunder,
this is the only word that you should sleep on
for you remind me of rudimentary silhouettes of trees,
lukewarm peel of laughter.

---

 

I just issued a newsletter yesterday on fathers. Check it out-https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul/letters/poetry-on-father

The Dance

Prompt- Dramatic Monologue

You!
The face of singular lotus
come, let’s evolve
someplace together
with our final dance
Take my hands
interlock it with yours

A strand of light
A strand of gleam
Your face
a yarn of mother’s touch
a cupboard full of old photo albums.

Your body is a shell
a shire of tulips
You have a mind of sunrise.

Look, do not overthink
for you must destroy this marble hour.
Hop!
Do not stare and evolve with me
before you learn to pronounce L O V E.

After all, Queer is this ecstasy!

Imaginations

For i see a tree behind a house made of clouds
a slow whisper entrapped beneath the soil
that never moves an inch
a state of wellness only getting harrowed
we live
like a static voice losing the soft cotton-like warmth
each day where the bells pause to chime.
We come across rooms full of stars and nights
and things even harsher
Imaginations of people breaking apart
or true maybe

The slice of pain is where it must have all begun
numb and electric
Everything seems on fire
where it ends
where it begins
no one knows.

Thins behind the valley seem plain
with ordinary roses
ordinary people
ordinary chirpings and shadow.

hallucinations or reality?

Those were the days of love.

---

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My newsletter- Tiny Letter

Dear all,

Thank you for always reading my work on WordPress. My love for you all will always be huge. Though it would mean a lot if you can subscribe to my tiny letter newsletter. I would be sharing some beautifully curated poetry of some great poets/ articles/ artworks and it shall also have insights into my work at your mailbox.

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thanks.

A gloomy promise

From Olive Skins

As you all know, I have started this lit magazine especially curated for abstract and surreal poetry which means a lot to me and so I urge you all to head over to this link and read this amazing poetry from a fellow poet.

Please like, share and follow if you appreciate the work.

https://oliveskins.com/2019/06/head-island-time-and-wave/

Olive Skins is live now

Thank you for such an overwhelming response for my new literary platform “Olive skins”. We have received some really great submissions and soon would be putting up on the site. Meanwhile, please visit the site, follow and check out the amazing poets we have for now. There is a lot more to come. Some real abstract art!

Ignorance

What does this speak to you?
my lament and a burning tongue
a swamp so full of oiled waters

I have an eye of the tiger
a frivolous running star
and often I sink in the void of blank noon.

They ask me how do I look
when I smile and giggle.
a silk saree well pleated and insane maybe.

I walk in the blazing red zone now,
I am scrupulous little statue of pale city.
I often smile,
I often glorify.

Check your thermometer now,
am I breathing still?
Is life still circulating around my small feet?
Check again, you.
A life sucks dream of one’s mind
and shove it into the loop of insanity.

---

P S-

My recent poems published on two drops of ink.

---

A bevy of stained minds

Halt

A cold mouth of air,
streaming down the rivers up till my painted toes.
I see a circled pair romancing behind the surface of the sky.
A cold distilled breaths.
Pure. Fixating, like a rubber band.

Far away from this orange sunset.
I hear umbrellas holding a hand of a detached one.
They support and smile. Simple.
Slowly, steadily like a geranium blooming after ages of scuffed earth.

Hums heard in the quietness of the diaphragm.
Subtle potions of looped lips,
speaking a language of gods.
Serene and mysterious.
poets standing on the ebb of satisfaction. Halt.
There, you, halt.

NaPoWriMo-4