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.
My recent poems published on two drops of ink.
In front of me, in the forest an array of sky shimmer.
I do not turn around to sniff the leaves,
there is a smooth trespasser on my skin.
So, I let it be.
I let the wind sit on my painted toenails.
As I walk further, rivers quarrel about a spider’s life behind.
I look at it. A life made independently.
It inspires, floral flowers blooming upon my eyelids.
A pure sound of crickets.
Sound that tickles my lips, and blurs my loss.
A stoppage to a mundane life.
In my room, I would lay horizontally
glistening the birds of silk skin, disappearing like smoke.
There was my body, a stone of carcass.
And As i walk into the woods,
The rain kisses my neck nonchalantly.
A silent kiss of a stranger on my lips.
My poem published on Mojave Heart Review!
Link to my published poem here
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.
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,
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.
i am made of paper lines,
bisecting and colliding like a scavenger
Pieces of fire fill my mouth,
my mouth of caves and thunder.
unabashedly walking like circles of planes,
fixed dots often scamper my periphery,
holding the deluge of love
holding a river of memories.
Everything swallows itself-
time / people / deaths / despair
mahogany rusty table sinks
and bees flutter like irreplaceable.
My mind delivers sketches of horror
a ghost-like face
hopping city by city
man by man,
melting into a paradox
and harvesting a dilemma.
A chain of imprints.
©Image and words- MVS