The Emptiness

adhemarpo: “ He Jiaying, peintre chinois contemporain ”

The emptiness of a man is not like emptiness on the wall,
it is platonic through the creeping sky.
The emptiness that talks to your mind,
where you understand the unparalleled world.
There is something bursting beneath the jawline,
something that produces more than a lonely feeling.
a sparrow reckons my dead poem-
a saddened tale that blooms under the belly,
They call it a dead poet’s nightmare.
A thing so vacant as if it never wished to exist.

The emptiness speaks of its beauty,
the narrow yesterday
The love poems of an old man.
I scream about my lies to the yellow walls,
a cue of slipping satisfaction from there.

What am I left with?
the most tangible noise to hear.
the warm crooked interiors,
the knob- cylinders empty,
t.v remote desiccated,
for noises inside the mind make enough noises.

There are fingers stretching forward like Spring
for help,
these lips, unfurling to revolve a poem about a poetess
so warm,
dead,
warm,
to be told somewhere in the empty walls once again.

monsoon in winters

NaPoWriMo-8

There is this pond at the back of my backyard,
filled with kerosene and knots of pale moonlight.
I drink summer drops from the systematic cold windpipes.
There is a blurb.
Short. Precise. Like a mother’s gentle touch.
A glistening path of nothingness. Absolute silence.
Here, my body sits and watches the dance of the gods.
Dance of gods up in the sky, monsoon in winters.

I rest, I rest like an eternity on the vertex of this pause.

A slip

eea4946d4a01240c2764995efba2bf546331898216227204185.jpg

i have written in my belly,
a thing for you,
your name that clamours this wall.
i have it preserved into my bones,
these skeletons of dark bowl.
ah! your voice, eccentric, atoms of atoms.
you blink, and i am basket of sunsets.

this life is a point of conversation.
with you, i skip this life.
a word that flutters still, like a pill.
you,
my darling create a tremor,
with spaces white as snowflakes.
i slip into you, a swirl of art.

As-You-return

Things return like autumn,
 with leaves, shades and colours
 as your mountain essence
 stick to my collar-bone,
 in the moments
 of nights, haze, dawn.

One by one,
 I circle around
 you, infinite-ball-of-love
 and soaked in your fingers
 and memories of the return,
 this mahogany burns,
 it burns as a bay leaf
 in segments and silvery parts
 I fall into parts,
 your demure pasture of lightnings,
 your mushy belly button
 your mouth of Jasmine

We made love
 to grow old together
 to be a single fallen star,
 we made love for your return
 where I am picked and loved,
 like a frozen pea,
 in your hand.
 And, I wait here
 for your return
 all like a wool,
 Fixation to occur.

©MVS

Uproar



i have a body that whizz like a circus
 two eulogies of sanguine madholes
 clifts and wars of a drunk man
 Loss of vision.Loss of words.
 repercussions produce hollows
 as deep as a cactus.

My knees producing floating amphibians
 Almost inhuman.
 Slid my copious throat
 you will have two minds again there,
 savaging my body
 like it's a loss of nothingness.
 streaming hot heads of loss.

©MVS

like never before

in the folds of time,
 a soft music exists
 humming your songs,
 tunes and a black river-
 with a piece of forgotten fingers,
 dancing, crying,
 what not -
 in your maps of the tongue
 & wild bridges,
 time evaporates,
 like nothing existed
 ever.
©MVS

Recent Trends

Three Children and Wagon c. 1930s #history             WOW the first sweet picture I have seen with Black and White children.

Some people I see these days are like
broken paragraphs of my poetry
with a missing meter and inconsistent gravity
Detonation of disgust pits and addition of volatile
vodka stammers my insipid vision.
Half moon, half-blood, half mouth covered,
like a decomposition of the great Odyssey.
Some people these days are like
Vintage tributes( but unfamiliar, surreptitious).
With a bumblebee of summery sky,
they bite your pure coltish recently built home
Some people these days exists like this
till they tangle your knots into miseries.


-My valiant soul

image courtesy- Pinterest

this poem is a liquid moon

My nights are inked
to the soiled sheets of tears
where the callous jaw bleeds inhuman poison,
or a thing pale as your heart
i sew it up to my nostrils, cold
the fragrance, shrieking my inside pits,
its dark, like blank spaces

Everything seems to be a show- off
your hands, your lips
my intelligence to care,
my cravings,
the nights turning them into molten pieces,
i die and become a ball of clay,
stuck to my body,
a parasitic drop of blood.

And there i lie
all dead and black,
with hemisphere dwindling,
and mouths missing
white thick slurp of warped words,
darkness runs in my heart,
like a lighthouse to my dreams.


The art

your slurpy mouth holds magic
 to sediment a stoic seed
 of silence, like silence.
 calm shades governing,
 a tip-toed saliva of blank eyes,
 a life kissing a life.

behind your earlobe,
 the sky falls,
 in tunes of carbon
 thick slices of carbon.
 coal romances with fire,
 life exists everwhere.

©MVS

A small talk.

Hola, my dear readers!

It has been ages since I have done a pep talk with my soul or anyone about my writings of late. I know a lot of you love my surrealistic poetry, yet since past a few days I am unable to feel the flow as if something is missing. Not a writer’s block, but something anonymous perhaps. It irritates you know. My inspiration is growing into a thick rope of fungus. My mind is stiff.

And, I also wanted to thank all my dear reader’s who have read me in depth like crazy. I might not say it each time, but I genuinely appreciate your time. Also, I might be irregular with my poetry as things are insane inside my mind but hope you will continue reading me. Saying that I still follow my rule of following any blog that interests me. Period. At times, I write on my Instagram account, but managing all these social media is surely not my cup of tea.

I will rather stick to this beautiful community. I am also working on my books yeah I know it is taking time, still I have to do it, besides that my work is scheduled in some of the magazines and that’s all.

Nothing much exciting, I guess!

Love & light~^^

©MVS||