How- My- body- Loves- You

Hold me like soft sand and poetry shimmering inside our luminous body. With neutrons clinging. Alphabets dancing. Hold me in the ebb of your turbid arch of bones that wraps my skin against your beard. I see my sagging breasts colliding your face, erupting cocktails and exotic dreams. I hear crickets churning my stomach. I, ingest my fears and swallow my dewy rainbows where you circle my lips with moist conversations of love.I place my frizzy coconutty hair on your chest and you knit a dreamland back and forth.I swallow your caricature and drink it like a cupid or something even more divine. Sinking beneath your foot I douse my fingers with painted doses of smile and hopes. A forehead of sunsets and mosaic, I chew my crisp quixotic air till I am floating like wax. This is how I worship your transparent shoulders, your utopian breath, little murmurs. Loops and magnets of lipids and liquid dreams. A grasshopper marks my mouth with your rosewater incensed air. Here, a collision occurs. Occult.



Natalia Vodianova by Peter Lindbergh

Something is missing in the pit of my stomach. I feel the charcoal staircase rupturing, then filling in the cracks of the blank moon. Devastation. Delusion. I see my blue arms extended to the poles of molestation, a sudden resolution of black and white vintage movies. My kitchen sink evaporates somewhere. Devastation.

The monotony of this body screams till my black walls fall, a sunken truth in this concoction of empty bowls and folded curtain stretches. Elasticity. The hands are empty, crooked, decayed.

Oh yes, there is an eclipse appearing on my black braids, swinging swiftly like my lips did once to lick that butter kiss. Appearances and traits are cellophane clinging to my white forehead. The lights appear bound, seized. Stagnate.

I pray and pray to wither the molten frames and fragments. Catharsis. Purification.

The cheek tint once filled the blue sky, the blue water, with sheets of pure cotton. Fidelity loops sinking onto the carvings of my feet. Parachuting in the snow. That was then.

For now, I see the mockery of time sitting onto my sharp laps, like a reservoir or a womb, gazing as I decay and fall and shatter and shatter into ashes.


It’s all Unnatural

It’s unnatural how you fall for me every day among the sunsets and pancakes. You caress my elbow, a star falls right upon my sliced forehead. The partitions are yellow, perforated, a sublime concoction of moisture and stories to foretell. The hoop of canticle vortex slides on my plump thigh and you begin to smile. It’s unnatural how you pause and speak. A diamond crackles in South. Blueberries put me to sleep in a land cryptic.

My nail cutter goes missing and my nostrils clog. I am a stack of insomnia with your wilderness living in my caramel heart. You wink and the paths collide. Shimmers. Cocktails of foreign kisses. My words vacillate with slick back pepper distorted prints. I blend in your pristine blood and something occurs. It’s all unnatural.

Fabrication of memories flutter. My lips and tongue all in motionless picture breaks. Silence and Love. Love and Silence. My eyelids are soft now, like baby powder on my stomach, sliding and awake. You sit and breathe effortlessly. Alchemy occurs.

It’s all unnatural.

I am still alive

It wasn’t like I was soaking in a pool of sunsets and sunrises
I was alive and breathing, the time you felt my body
overlapping my curves, you swore you learned geography
like the Polaris meeting the souths of your dark pole

I giggled, moved like a lighthouse
swamping in potholes and dents of a curved house,
I was alive and breathing with a firefly floating inside my head
With a bouquet of red hopes disguised as your white fingers
touching my white sane mind, white bedsheets, white walls.
The black corners clashed, carbon mouth descending, still breathing.

I remember picking up a cactus and swallowing it. Ingesting sweet Irish coffee.
Swirling a garland of despising and pebbles of mundane realities.
I was evolving and thawing. You intact my shapes and declared me Nuclear.

Seasons yelling. Nature smirking.
I was still breathing beneath the iron chains and rusty tables.
Falling leaves adorned my body often, like a thunder giggling a thunder.

I still am stirring and breathing.

• • • • MVS



In a circle full of moisture and baked apple pie’s, I crave and hold the periphery of Words like a sullen extension of truth. A point of solitude. I rub my skin to find the unsaid, undiscovered words, I rub my iris, my white thighs like a fiction produced by swallowing catharsis.

Discover. Run. Run in your stockings. Run in your shoes. Find the haze. Catch the molecules. Choke on the existence of W O R D S. Seduction. Dedication. Sanctification. I don’t want to be alive, for I am soiled and drunk. I am married to the drops of inebriation of pale figure.


Drop by drop I bleed poetry and imbricate the words on my yellow walls, on the roofs of my cracking teeth. Bites of cold potato shiver me, and hence a word like Intrigue sticks to my milky cleavage.

There lies churning noise of whispers now, a seepage. The thunders on the hills and the thunders of my words are the same. Yes, I OWN M Y W O R D S, clinging its petals to my naked waist and there is an Equilibrium.

Mellifluous. Limerence.

The winter is born.

®My Valiant Soul


Tonight, I shall smirk and produce cactus in my bones. Reverberating your conjured beds exhausted me. Tonight I shall not be a bean of pelican feathers, a china crockery. With the burial of your carbon mouth, I burn till the sky thumps. And then you shall explode the way I did.

Your clandestine face is like a green moth today. Pulverizing. Torrential.

The language of lonesome affairs strikes and burns my ginger thigh, moisture resides, phosphorescent sigh.

Scream and watch that burning sky. Swallow the eclipse. Revolve and rotate like wild sharks. A stack of lipids and liquids shall only entice you. You leap and crawl. Your skin is that of marine molluscs, fidgeting, concealing.

Tonight, I refuse to entertain you.

The burning wax is still my favourite companion.

®My Valiant Soul

What ‘it ‘does to me

Let me say this precisely.

I entered in your walls of quietness to flutter, like vapours and fumes

with hushed heartbeats —baked body,

Titanium slipped its coffin like a bell tower

inside my teeth and foot

empty and broken whispers

I entered in the temples, with doughnuts swinging

charcoal breaths coagulating my sanity

insane, insane she is insane

Cracks and mosaic

filters these walls, like a moth biting a moth

and insanity blooms, for the time, is spring

incessant murderous time( If I have time, I will perform discectomy)

Incongruous, incompatible.

I stick to a shadow of curtain,

absorbing its peachy warmth, rotating and curling my lips, my hips

and I rub my palms to enter once again

in your swollen canopy of saneness.



I sit here absorbing my own vault tears, sobbing the dirt that was under my blanket. Moist blankets and roses crawl like an uncanny mist all over my face and crack me here on my nostrils, on my thighs that now lie like a drunk teenager amidst the forbidden land, a forest. Earlier this morning, I made myself a cup of coffee thinking how to cope up the last day’s bruises and to survive once again, but darn to my coffee. The taste is still peculiar and hideous.

I sit in the sunshine later to enhance my beautiful body like a golden shimmer and to hide the darkness, back to back I chant Sylvia’s Plath “ you do not do, you do not do” and sync its voice with my unheard screams. I gaze at this perforated Universe, trying to understand the images real and the ones still haunting me. I think of my mother, I think of my sister, I think of my Husband, my eyes still lost between the latent lights and the iniquity of unheard footsteps kicking inside my mind.

I am a quark, motionless and Vintage sulking the gravity of your eyes and iterating its resonance in my mind again and again. Thumping. Striking. I fight and flap as I hear your murmurings dropping like a dirt on my vermilion hair strands. You know how I wanted to kill your sibling, Time. desiccating its thunder and burying the dark blood veins into a pit of abstract mannequins. Oh, time…you are a Devil perhaps.



Related image

Today, my writing is divine. With the savage to sink myself in words, I am invincible. Language embellishes me like wrapping petals of roses to the moon. I know my heartbeat today, rapturous, melancholic like almond skin.
I feel the bruises not the scars for scars are permanent ink.
I remember that sad lady lying drunk on the street, I saw myself decaying in her.
I know not today I will be like a dead stone for writing is divine today.
Dragons or mermaids do not alter my dreams. Life shall be Claustrophobic in many ways, where my silver cup of paradise might be scratched.
But I have a tooth of gold to flicker.
I have known the past and the present. I choose wisdom always.
Words created me, for my soul is a rolling stone. I know the pen is my destiny.
Cries, peals of laughter and hunger, I know all.
I have sipped the cup of poison too, so I do not fear, I rise.

©My Valiant Soul


Shades of emotion-the black-the red-the grey

Image result for red and black

The Black

Hoops of the anxious soul are hanging in the most voracious way.I hear thunder, rustling silence.This is my first phase, anger.

The intimidating red eyes. The eyes of satan, they say. The faded shades of grey, charcoal, as my wrist remain crossed.

I put my wrist on top of my forehead.The sagging forehead.

The conundrum geography exists right here, sharply ecstatic.

Hot wax, profound depth, a lingering cold wave.

A dark, gruesome heart.

A ghost- like canopy of thoughts.

The Red.

This is a melancholic phase.

A lugubrious red sorrow shining on my pinky finger, the tales of the darkly skinned elbow.

the bends on my skin, my crooked skin.

the way sky forms uneven patterns,

leaving us bewildered of the richness, the great creations.

All I see is complexities, the bars of a collision, gateway of numbness.

A stoppage.

The vague dreams.

Now the heart is crooked.

The Grey.

A wave of cornered soul resists like the last droplets of rain.

Tiring yellow pages, not desiring to be read further.

Monotonous paths, monotonous tones, monotonous human.

I kiss my pain in a breezing way, hugging my own doleful pits.

the screams forms chains of comfort, the sky is indicating a pattern,

the crookedness is recovering into a deeper hole

name it comfort?Name it a bliss. Oh!Don’t name it.

As it’s still  a vivid hole, murky,

dark, distilled in my conscious, collided with my mindset,

it’s grey here, my palm is feverish

my eyelids are the coherence of deeper shades of grey

this is the phase,

this is the ultimate revival, mystical.