Fermenting the swan shaped neck- the tears that merge into cerulean lake. People name it- glorious sunset. Mud holes and sweet limes. People name everything they see, They call names and give them back. Circulation of hopes and the nerves attaching to it. Love- Hate. What all do you see? Ladies at work and men at bed. Men at work and ladies all alone. No new moon shines today. Fermenting the loathed swan shaped body tonight.
I hear a quiet shout, screeching under my eyes- How long do I float, anonymously? to declare is what I want- space and time stars and grass, look at my one hand, the one that stares you- curvatures of my body= lotus. Lotus that spews water from its body again and again. Call it life. Give it a name- Air, will you be a space to my existence? Water- will you sing songs to my graveyard? Fire, burn along. Do not resist anything further. This day inhales "me" in the most blasphemous way. I do it through a circular band on forehead. I soak everything like a sponge. Watering lilies and eating oatmeal. Please be mine- You, the ferocious 'eye'. Apply a cold balm all through my body- know my persistence of time and know what I mean. ----------------- To read my book- Crimson Skins- India Crimson Skins- US
Body of coral sunsets slipping underneath,
and I think of your curvatures, silhouettes of water- lotus
a heavy mass of flower spinning upon the moon,
a daydream and slow night
slow as far riverbeds, moaning
quick and slow.
the fingernails hide a slippery naked climate,
fermented by the shiver and body on body
dirty tablecloths:
dirty walls, kitchen sinks melting away
melting like the throbbing blood
blood: so warm and luscious now
as a river riding a star.
I squat in the evening, on the fresh, frozen floor
like a rose, budding and blooming.
The pink air laughs and shifts incessantly
between our pastel love, our growing thick bites
the hollows of tongues
dancing.
Mermaids in heaven.
I stare and stare and become the large junction
(Bodies rhyming)
But this sorrow never ends.
The tongue that runs cold
due to platonic threads of sins and cold meadows
the ache is blooming each day
beneath the blue unfolded eyes
the colour green- now a tone of burning bodies
this is my survival song, you see
with lines cryptic sunset on my lap
the night never fades away
the soil enriched with a glint of my water
my heavy overwhelming collapsing lungs.
this poem shall not soothe you-
instead would ask you to hunt something more
some more of air, water, sun , fire.
in your neighborhood
about the fallen leaves.
dry tongues,
neck choking.
about things so unpleasant
you would not otherwise want to know.
Hi, Do check out my published book, available on Kindle also. Let me know what you think of this one?
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
Subscribe to my newsletter-Â https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
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
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!
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.
Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul
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.
You won’t be disappointed.
You just have to subscribe to the mailbox and you can enjoy different poetries while sipping on your favourite tea and maybe anytime you wish to read. I still will be hanging onto my this platform along with my Instagram, twitter handle.
https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul
thanks.
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.
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!
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 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
Darling, a bumblebee of your name comes and sticks to my comatose body strewing words of your lips, porcelain slick drops of rain. There I am, endlessly counting the threads of time, your body like chemicals rushing, talking tounges, flesh sinking in nature. something surreal we deliver to autumn, a painted silhouette of love. We gulp the harrowing throb of time, inhaling the movements of our doused body, in a swamp of emblematic sheets of symmetry. We become a pattern, a floral one, darling... this is how i take you, Afternoon red sun.
i sit outside in the incensed moon,
galloping my swallow droplets of fear,
a knuckle breaking knuckle,
what’s the fear of this cricket chirping?
the modals of life.
these hands are burrows of islands,
small and large, a heightened hue of black spot.
I sit and inhale the ambiguity here,
the cracks on the white wall,
plants dying, plants blooming.
Regeneration is about loss: life a flat truth.
These fears came streaming like disguised prayers,
cinnamon hands become prayers often.
I sit and break my fingers,
defying cellophane face of morbid love
over and over and over.
i sniff the air and hunt.
I hunt like sunflower, killing the weeds of infestation.
murdering the portrait scenic chins of nothingness.
i defy times at times.
MY VALIANT SOUL 
You must be logged in to post a comment.