A swallowed truth/lie

Piquant Ray’s
swallowing another vein
outstripping a colour.
A semblance of mouths happen
with a tripping thrust of tongue,
A man dies and another blooms,
eating a piece of time.
syncopated sheets bleeding,
like ruckus of seizures,
does everything lick time?


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The Way I Do It.

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My Phospherent body of raisin skin
 moans and swells like a process of Spirituality
 with fingers clinging your mouth,
 your scars, your lips, your teeth
 and your heart of surrealistic reverie.

I become a thunderbolt,
 in the opulent windows of dreams and smiles
 wearing your white shirt, I swing.
 I swing like an autumn leaf,
 cascading down your throat,
 that black spot on your chest
 You thump and palpitate my arms.
 Spring is born between our naked lips.

The temperature of cold walls crack
 in the slices of Orion blue.
 A stardust drinks the entire Constellation
 Life trembles and illusions occur.
 I breathe you somewhere between
 the spaces of my index finger and my thumb now.
 I wear your sins on my mercury tongue
 levitating branches and seeds of satisfaction, darling.

©MVS

Black pain & walls

i have fallen with troops of maniac
inside this cold body
disappearing jawbones of sins
and masters of death
residing inside this globe,
the pool of ataxia,
the pool of coherence
with red pale evenings
growing,
chilling,
breaking,
falling,

Abstruse thumbs of broken lines
making me thaw,
ice-cold teeth
cracking on black grounds,
with lonesome stars,
knitting my naked body
like a work of brilliance,
spider's- job,
still, i fall this time...
i fall & it hurts.

®MVS

Eyes of Words

Sylvia Plath
Pinterest

No, I don’t write to cherish your cotton melodies.
An orange boy sleeps as I write and decorate my pages with
mannequins of moist thoughts.
There is a broken periphery as my words, letters unfurl the unsaid.

The corrosion of tanned face, the bleeding of fingers
onto this sheet that absorbs my coconut ink, seems seamless to me.
I don’t write to make you believe in my writing,

Fuming naphthalene skies, beneath my words
Iterative slumber happens. A baby is born.
Like ferns and twists of my tiny arms and twists
my words open, a reverie. A Hypothesis.

And so I don’t write to write. My fingers disintegrate and I ripple again.


To my Virginia

Image result for virginia woolf

“Her heart was made of liquid sunsets”- Virginia Woolf

So, this is how it starts, backwards and forwards
A canopy of fire dwindling in the mercury stars of ocean
Routing the past weeds and merciless eyes

Imbroglio thunders often attacked me, I threw fits and seizure
on these wooden floors on the horizons of your body
and so much vomit, Ah!

But you see the endings do not end here,
My teardrop holds your bones and breaths
uncountable fantasies clinging my necklace
Prolixity of your memories often defeat the pendulum
I carry so much in my heart if precisely stating.

And so this is how it begins in the stardust and galaxies
where I calm my madness and powder my worries
dropping my heavy footsteps into the pool of oceanic torrent
The electric waves do teach me brightness and darkness if you must say
And my heart takes everything you spit on my bedsheet
My heart touches the ebb of mundane sunrises and sunsets
Still working the aftermaths, hurricanes, polemical truths.


P.S- Virginia Woolf’s writings are always resonating and mesmerizing to me. My words are only and only a small tribute to this powerful soul! She shall always be an inspiration.

®MVS


Moments

DSC00294
self

I eat the brevity of moments
piece by piece
in irregular, circular motions
like the daunts of rain
the daunts of greys
with cerulean eye- dots.

These limbs are an array of woollen mouths
fragmented and ruffled,
in the moments of despair
in the moments of sunsets.

I conjure and swallow
all that occurred here,
in these moments of pain
in these moments of abortions,

Life romancing fatal nights,
a spider knitting a bridge of paradise
it clicks and time haunts the future.
And, I eat it all…moments.


©image and words- MVS

NaPoWriMo#7

Whispers

Whispers: A tale of my forlorn soul to my fingernails
A point of truth occurs on my sordid laps,
I had enough of alcohol, enough of pills now
Fatigue, disappointment, Dropping ink,
Like a spot of timid bee,
my back scratches the pain of black paint,
spawling I am dwelling outside the cape of unknown and the known
Travelling graves and the faded stars
Beneath duality, a layer of another transparent air exists
Cubes of salt and granules of sugar
Sip, slap, gulp.
Hush, my thoughts are evolving back and forth
oh, forth and back(tapping the drums,
iteration)
The breakfast I prepared stinks tonight,
I will eat the dinner in the morning.
The circumference of my naval is lit yet again,
There are stories piling inside, Stacking of memories,
the throbbing of outnumbered voids.
Silence, noise, silence.

-My valiant Soul

As I Pray

Vintage photo

Resolute flames of candle burn on my windowsill

catching your white still fierce memory laughing in the atmosphere,

Tonight, I rebuke the ashes and the time of Thar

to halt, a clock eating another clock somewhere

If I slit tomatoes with you, you shall give me memories and formations.

For you create footsteps and geometry,

Carrying your dainty artistic eyes in the paintings of my body

I replicate you, I replicate your duties, Mother

And I learn the process of Catharsis from your bellybutton

I sew your words to my hairdo, swaying

singing your touch around,

And I pray and pray

like rainbows touching a slice of paradise.

For, I shall always be You.


P.S – To my everything, my Mother.


©MVS

Moonlit Romance

Imagine walking on your balcony to a moon this close...
image credits- Pinterest

“Under your skin, the moon is alive”- Pablo Neruda

My body has gone counting
The twists and folds of your skin.
My hands have carved a tattoo
plunged into your chest,
where a basket of sunrises glitter
like the moon’s hideous smile.
I have heard the murmurs of your heart
where white earth blooms.
Like sagacious door-knob,
And the small key-hole,
where I flow like mesmerizing dust,
Aurora hair sparkles,
golden Orion of moon slice resists in you.
Crackles, splinters, chills, winters
found in your wet earlobe,
as I walk upon the moist earth,
my sagging dreams
only to meet your infinite luscious skins of skin.

©My Valiant Soul


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.