poetry · published

Flower and Fruits

These words will arrive in formations

about my sleep

about the morning fresh dew.

about Point of indulgence. Crisp periphery of sliced strawberries.

About dying Flowers and Fruits.

Scratch, fingers across belly button.

Finding appropriate word is almost like flowing incessantly.

Organs fluttering.

My words will occur in shapeless boundaries

with lanterns and lost sheets of clouds.

A few about moments. A few about tiny swirls of acrylic seasons.

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Would love to see you reading the poetry collection I published during the last year. Available worldwide now!:)

poetry · prose

Tales from the dark

the nights shift incessantly

between the coiled conversation,

about semantics of life

the arrival and departure of distilled solitude

at a point of growling sleep patterns

my words think they are tool

to carve

to emboss a pain onto the strangers arms

about melancholic shifting dreams,

the mosiac vintage art

my nakedness is a cry to the limbs out of balance

they cringe,

they wither away

like soft paper dreams,

crushed under the sinking elbow

again

and

again.

……………………………………………………………..

Thinking of a Christmas gift? My poetry collection is receiving all the love for which I am truly thankful to each one who supported it. I produced my book out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here-

Crimson skins

Crimson Skins- India

poetry

Growing up

I realize I am growing old

with my mother’s home prepared coconut oil,

pressed flowers on the sheets.

I sleep next to her

almost like a ritual now,

I realize

when she mumbles softly in her sleeps

the childhood was different-

It was full of prayers, folk songs, odes, laments.

I see her sleep walking now-

abruptly between the noises in her head

amidst the empty pale rooms,

Circling

Walking

Sitting

I see her sleeping with deep breaths,

a hard name to remember-

I realize, I am growing too old now

to witness the melancholy,

to paint my fingers in the sea of dementia.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Thinking of a Christmas gift? My poetry collection is receiving all the love for which I am truly thankful to each one who supported it. I produced my book out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here-

Crimson skins

Crimson Skins- India

poetry

Falling Dream

I am quiet too often
like the empty hallways,
humming a song already forgotten
with a tilting toe towards the sun
a sigh: pink fingers dipped in pain
a sigh: pink fingers dipped in hallucination
   there is a staircase now
falling beneath my parting head
half towards left,
            half towards right
days whistling on sea waves
about my country in flames,
about my city in illusions

watching a cloud
things fall under the feet now
a complete loss of sense 
tiny leaflets fluttering

green songs that reflect nothing.
the survival becomes a pungent smell often
with absent glares
and a blue sea that is a part of my dream.

My poetry collection is receiving all the love for which I am truly thankful to each one who supported it. I produced my book out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here-

Crimson Skins- US

Crimson Skins- India

poetry

A lost letter to my father

 

1940s vintage photo of father with kids-Fathers Day #1940s #1940slife #vintagephoto #fathersday

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

poetry

A poem so sad

3:09 a.m

I think the ache begins at my lower back,

The hurt that I got due to an accident

Or a muscle collapsing.

Things or two it taught me about distraction,

and wholesome love.

The pain shift to my left angular hand.

The palm unfocused, floating in the air

  • a pendulum song.

The knee doesn’t stop there,

It bends & cracks

with a peel of medieval ache,

The old vintage era of swollen eyes.

I see it all through the staircase of my dizzy body.

But what about the eyes?

Will they shut the spineless playlist of brown air

or soak in some more tears?

They refuse to talk. To sleep.

Eyes are the biggest culprit any era can produce.

They twitch, itch but won’t eat up your wound.

My anxiety is a shapeshifter,

until i put my fingers through the sheet of night.

®Devika

poetry

song of despair

 

New vintage jewelry ideas jewellery 34 ideas #vintage

the body swells
in the anarchy of lunatic afternoon
the mouth fumbles,
softly
dripping  sonnets from the toes,
the face gulps the horrors
swiveling across the pale streets,
i sing a song so full of flat tune now,
in the small clots of blue sky.

and I never stop staring at that sky,
that lump in my small throat,
a wound so uglier now.
There is such an alkaline dance of the naked goddess inside my womb.
I become almost infallible.
with blue moons, in my chest,
it sings a song so perfectly,
with small droplets of water sleep on the floor.

There exist multiple tunes intertwined with shadow
of my despair song.

poetry

The flight

Yeh Seedhi Sadhi Chori Sharabi Ho Gayi | via Tumblr

Where does it go?
Your unspoken word of lust,
an ensemble of parched dancing words,
Do you let them run?
Or do you absorb the guilt, like a sponge?

Harvest the other sides of pixie lawn now,
Run… run along the shores
embossing a pain onto the sand.

Among the stars is a paper flower blooming,
with a binomial tongue to speak.
The star and the earth do not suffice your sparkle.
Pelican featured sunset glows.

Slurp and slurp.
The agony hides behind the crevices of teeth.
Churn your fear like a betel leaf,
Take a flight,
Like the bunch of sun-kissed memories.