Time and again

My lips porcelain and full of moments
and desires, with a beetle evolving inside.
Curious, my arms extend, elongated like a shadow.
Dripping ink and curls,
eyes stained, pink and blue
my curves smile, and Occults occur.
My scratches roar, screams, and a star goes missing.

A dialectic skin grows each day,
with ligaments rupturing
with corals fading, a myth that sits on my lap.
The time eats our pain
and slaps our foot,
to mock the red boxes,
with the wildness awake
to kill a mockingbird.
time and again.

©Image and words MVS

Yellow Hollows



Spitting, patting

flower of titanium.

lip-locked, verbiage sonogram

With shadows of hurricanes

dripping blood,

moth-like opening.

sweet and resolute.

Hear the thoughts,

dissecting silence

like an umbilical cord

unfurling,

oozing,

The tips of bud

and bottoms of

butt,

clinging, parasitic love.

parasitic hate

both entwined,

both subsisting.

in your clockwise tongue

of spits and spits.

image and words-©MVS

Last Single Existence

I am silvered and stickered
in the blue’s of despair
hunting my scalp
down to the ankle stain,
recidivating, collapsing
For the roads are a summer breeze
tropical, slapping my coarse breast
the humming is repetitive.
like insanity clicking
Artless.

Viscous walks defy my extinction.
The roars and shouts, scrapping my last
single bit of blood
my last single ounce of sleep.
my last single mouth of chalks and blackboard.


©MVS image and words

Salt water mixed with air

My squinting eyes evolve and illuminate the seeds and seedlings of us. Germination and hibernation. It’s stillness spinning on my cracking bones and lips. Thunders push forward my footprints, marking sand and sand-dunes of time like a canopy or translucent umbrella of opaque dreams. It’s treacherous. Banal and vixen kisses to tell you. The door-knobs even pique and cringe if this bellybutton delivers abhorrence of time and scars.

I have been bitten and marked. Denouement spoke to my tongue. I had a liquid conversation with the hinges of my black bed and cottons of white pillow, it scared me like a colossal tornado.I had inexplicable seizures that year and was hustled with a silver spoon to keep me alive. And I survived and lived.
Sustenance mingles with the Universe to crack your spine always.

I tasted salinity and guns. With thorns and lotus opening up in my callous floral palms. These small, little white palms.
Tides often slow down and flush waters only after a big cyclone. And, I learned something.


©Image and words MVS

Aphorism

MVS
What intrigues my eye the most is the sweetness and copious jelly myths of the world. A truth about death and beauty. Shapes genesis hoodwinked as orange sunsets, leveraging. I form petty diluted circles of observance hanging outwards from my malice thighs. A point of dissatisfaction. Itching of my eyelids emphasize that.I become a murmur retracing my vintage memories and an array of laughter. Is that real?

Pain makes you semi-liquid. Oozy and dropping.You want to lick its hard mahogany slurps and burps, you fail. There is a point of indifference arising in the lines of palms and ankle. The resistance. The stagnation. The repetition. Mollusc scalded and halved to bear fruits and offsprings. Offsprings of delusions and love. And a linear equation is formed like a stack of memories stored in the jar from a lush garden. So, is this real?


© Image and words- MVS

Meera and her Ways.

Meera drinks nectar like an inconspicous child. With a bowl dipped in sugar lime soda. She travels around your iris,swallowing apples. All at once. The windowsill fades aways as she drops her clothes on her mosaic, transparent floor. Refraction delivers prejudice. A moist floor. A lady bird walks in an old fashioned way to sip her hollow images. Meera is an Ecosystem of sins and sins. A tapestry cracking.
She wears a deep mauvy bindi to discard her ebony scared patches of dead dreams.

She is like a shadow of an unlit oil lamp, threading a map of disgusts and soft lust onto her soft skin.Her outer skin defines mangroves and thunder. A cobweb.
Asphyxiation of dark charcoal, burning.
A soft kiss on a lover’s forehead. Squeaky.Gentle. Her body, a holy chant. Silent words plunged deep into her heart like an owl’s glance in austere darkness. Sharp.
She floats her arm in the void air and she becomes a forbidden territory. Demarcation.

Meera rests her heavy eyelids near your sequin moth- like mouth with a prismatic mirage of loops. As if she knows you.Her tampered electronic voice.
Her orange rusty elbows.
Pickle paradise rests somewhere in between her lofty legs, harrowing.
Her skewered jawline defining her rumpled life.Roads of distress.A conjunction of poets.

Meera is like a clay-ball. Elastic. Absorbing and sinking in her sickness and lies. Lies of trivial sagging head spins. All lies.
Summer breeze collides her eyes and fills her sloping toenails with antique emotions.
Meera is an art. A wooden box of pixie dust. Incensed with crisp secrets and desires. She floats with her semantics of time, piled like a silver stack of spoons.Galloping her fears, she puddles the dirt each day. May be that’s her crime.

Do you know her?


®MVS

A Madhouse

 
The sound of water almost uncanny,
 A plastic bag bloats and floats
 like a memory of thoughts
 piled and halved beneath,
 my sagging skin of skins.
 The room is a liquid gel
 with my thoughts arrested,
 sleek and colourful.

Water Ripples
 my thoughts bifurcate further
 With tunes of melancholy
 and cascading mystical languages.
 It's supernatural.
 To observe the stagnant darkness
 with my crisp white eyes
 A twig eating another twig.

I sit and scream
 in the slivers of time
 piercing through this vacuum body,
 I hear rumbling of sky
 detonating my body vapours
 I nourish the thoughts
 like a cotton swab
 softly, piling and weeding.
 It's almost ethereal.
®MVS


	

The Ritual.

Image result for casais vintage

Darling, my lips measure your spaces and wounds
with the thumb, I knit seismic waves on your back
Paradises stitching, lands coinciding inside
Like a wildflower, I bloom here.
Soils: A bark of memories, red and black.
I travel beneath the surfaces and measure
the cleaving knots, dome-shaped illusions.

Light strikes the stardust and I am a Mirror again
Foretelling your miseries
Holding the icicles of stories on my palms,
I have a newborn skin tonight,
with things to clean
with love as sweet medicine
with White curtains
Sun-kissed air, I am a falling bridge
Having a heart as your canvas.
Flickering. Motionless. oh, Darling.


™MVS

A thing unknown

self

Rugged and stained like diamond pieces
Equinoctial beats and wet lips,
This darkness bites my sour mouth
with injections and nerves of seizures.
Hymns and flavours of sharp projections
Contoured and well defined
Smirk. Like a swamp of poise.
Eternal Black Spot.
The ink parts my foot and declares a War
With swirls and prowess for moisture
and a supernatural belief.
It’s madness or total anxiety.
It’s a full stop. Rubbing my tongue
I see my eyes, the mirror work and the stones.
I see it with a thread of wool and deductions of logic.
Magic. Fireworks.


Unease

Loneliness weeps and grows like a fungus

in toes and fingernails, with cascading webs of cryptic silence

It shudders like hurricanes,

a mirrored tattoo of wild breaths,

Yellow you may say—

It clasps inside my knee joint

I am born again, inside the pain of lone nights

with a silent bat hovering my windowsill

and my half lit cigarette, peek a boo.

These are stages of disintegration,

body biting body

skulls digesting mucus.

Thousands of pools of madness

Loneliness is a silent killer.

Iron tongues. Levitating.

Circles residing in the swamps of squares,

Total Madness.

©MVS


Cravings

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

Image result for sylvia plath

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.


 

Denial

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

A Poet’s Sanity

Tumblr site. This person has collected some really beautiful, old photos. This one is not the best example---but it came up as the only pinnable image.
Pinterest

Do not cross your doubts in my face of trees
Humongous rocks piling and shattering altogether
I am a cloak of shadow, hiding and humming chants
to release my sanity, blue waters of Mediterranean hunger
Clap my soul, and find the twinnings of pieces of glass
Fixated on the roots of my birthplace, insanity clamours.

Reds and Blacks
beneath
the sheets of night,
Liquor and it’s all forms
enticing and questioning
I knock my mind, to check the sanity
and words perch like a thick rope
entangling and pressing my blood,
knots and knots and knots
I check for my sanity now each day
for people melt into my mind, askew drawings
and then question my sanity.


©MVS

Voices.

“Paper has more patience than People”

I have heard enough about the grey letters dancing, leaping
on the white pure sheets,
I have seen her tears also pooling up inch by inch and forming a galaxy
at each side of the page
Turgescent drops of ice circulates, rhymes and drops as she swipes the cotton cheeks
She stifled a numb voice, a queer quietness. Lost in the archaic voices.

Ataxia on her knees, ataxia in her throat
a vague remembrance of ash and wine
she twirls the pages and eats it like a healthy dinner
Insoluble mud often teaches you life beyond death
making you reflect reflections, the screams and the smudged mascara

she speaks now, trembling voice like that of the old-fashioned stethoscope
a heartbeat yellow and fractured
startling. Survival. Unflagging
She resides here in these brown paper of dust and pain.
She resides in your vertebrae, like fungus
she travels quietly in our disgust words,
She is us.

«©MVS


 

The Cleansing Ritual

 

Gertrude Hoffman by Frank Bangs, 1917.
Pinterest

 

A process that disintegrates my coral stomach system,

With an arrow of titanium and spits of black

I prefer cleaning your insane, archaic touch that made me dark

The splashes of oval bowls of coughs and stigma

That stick to my tongue, my very pink tongue

Coughs and coughs till you understand this cleansing

And the thought process merges with your berserk piquant

Barbaric iris of the eye

Oh, you plunged the cactus and the roses all at once

Into my fingernails, into my saliva

I spit and spit and spit

This cleansing is a seduction of rituals

It takes time and then the skin is immaculate and cellophane clear

I take iterative baths on Mondays and Sundays

Hot water gargles cleanses my gums and tongue once more

For you clicked mouths to my book of statues and clock bell

I rub my painted matt nails,

I rub my Skull,

I rub this proliferating blood vessel dipped in your memoir

Rub, rub, rub

Ah, eh,

I  am a puddle now,

A flush of an Orchid tint.

Tilting in my own dirt

Defending my own soaked raisin body.

Twines and wires of your smooth photos

still can be traced inside my jigsaw heartbeats

one by one, somewhere.

®MVS


 

Cease

self

Between the crooked lines and my deaf poetry,

i hear raspberry bowl of emptiness swinging onto my anklet

the sourness, the bitterness

strike right here in the perimeter of earthly images,

a vague amplifier going berserk

silence, noises, screams, Pause.

I am a stained tea- coaster, resting on your blue table

i crave a coffin or a bed now, for I want to cease

till the season changes and my blood spills ink again.

®MVS