Things I like to do

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“this is the easy time, there is nothing doing”- Sylvia Plath

Cherries and quieter moments
basking in the volatile spur of the moment
and there I sit and gulp your madness
your cold, hot waxy madness.
I wonder, how you eat my skin in the noon,
with a cheek of sublime apple,
water ripple flushing my eye.

winters are blankets of love and pain.
you sink like a twig in a swamp,
and you still want to clasp the moon.
My nostrils cold,
with you in it,
a sleepless satire of pale face.

I sit, a wall of clock eating my claw,
my fist aching,
counting the floating moment of time,
A catharsis of breeze often romances with my bosom
telling me talks of air, crisp and erratic.
And there, I am lost, empty, earthed like air.

My recent work published here- my words.

And yeah once again I am all about SP! And where are my old WP writers?

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a hollow night

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” I am terrified by the dark thing that sleeps in me”- Sylvia Plath

Cluttered, torrential nights of stone sinking throat,a huge titanic of this time,
my sheets turning into white ghost,
a ghost of you,
my words that were never said.
You, the lantern of chipped nights,
A mesh of annihilation.
You come and perch on my dreams, like satan a missing subsisting eye or a lip. Time kills me before you make me dark, dark as my old rusty windowsill,
with a dying flaky dream.
this thing inhuman wraps my skin of lemon peels
my skin of words and reverie.
my skin…
my darling skin…
( continuous screams of inexplicable pain, now/)

Mirror of molten eye


Lets cut your molten mirror eye
 the pain of anguish and beauty.
 Paper crux. Purgation and names
 Chalice of age,

A timeline.
 A loophole.
 Eutrophication of breaths.
 Missing smiles of Ganges.
 A longitudinal filth.
 Memories of a cactus walk.
 A deluge.

You have the eye to smirk
 bodies floating like ghosts
 you splinter the seed of skins,
 partitions of mind
 like a river from Thar.
 Occulus occurring,
 ravine crux of silhouettes.
 Damn! You mirror of molten eye.



Loosely inspired by Sylvia Plath's - Mirror
©Image and words- MVS

Cravings

I desire the things which will destroy me in the end- Sylvia Plath

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Give me a cauldron, a soaked cotton firmament

multiplied and divided,

in the sunshine of cigars and the owls of dark

Pulverized ropes of hollow imagination, it flatters me.

I want to put my foot in the skull of my brain

and measure the elasticity, the gravity throbbing.

Your smell locks my lips, susurrous allusion

with your diamond dents and abstraction

Kneading your mouth to my skin

my pores to your arms,

loose like vapours dissolving into the colossal violet sky

So, I crave you and your moist   moist     moist     tongue.

A little does not fulfil my throat,

I want the dirt, and the limericks broke and joined

with the sustenance of deluge inside my veins.

The remains and ashes,

the blue-bells,

the clock between my mind and my doings,

insane movements, I want all.

Slick slurps of hatred and love

clinging my iris and legs.

I want all things bad and eccentric.

©MVS

PS.-Because I am running out of inspiration, I could always find some,  from this amazing evergreen poetess. She is simply astronomical.

My poem on Visual Verse can be read by you all  here.


 

Time

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.


©MVS