A poem like this

Daily Discoveries · But What Should I Wear

Mouth of stars/ flickering hands of aesthetic people/ a blue picture/ a few more aesthetic people/ watching a turquoise dream altogether/ hands covered with kisses and sweet dreams/ a picture so surreal/ A body naked/ Warm/ a corroded necklace/ some more soft kisses/ Prayers/ An air of lullabies caressing toenails/ Journeys ending to nowhere/ starlight sinking like a grapevine/ bubblegum wrappers/ A night so dark/ Nothing fancy/ Orange peels dripping juice/ Skin so soft/soft as forlorn sky/ soft as a womb/ a word so pious/ temple bells/ a poem like this.


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Effortless

I have a picture
punctured and ironed inside,
a tale of twin sisters,
rising above your waist
with a pastel grey voice of mind.

The coherence of mute environment,
is like a prayer to me now.
A green straw up in the sky sucking
the chambers to drink nectar of white life.

I have arrived here,
here in the painted head of open mouths.
mouths that utter olive seas.
Here, I gather & loose myself,
a percolating fly doused in a tea stain.

Too many arms now
up in the sky
breaking a blurb of dark howl,
A new slippery existence
a new machanism of conjunction of elements.


Mute Noises

This room empty,
still folds a language of dots & moisture
holding a voice inside, holding a crescent of love inside.
It has triangular edges, sulking the memories inside.
A bohemian palm doused in laughter.
I linger here and there,
near the corner pale yellow table,
above the square corner of files, soiled poetry.

This room, a woman who is pregnant with all seasons.
Slipping through the comatose screams,
ink spilled on the salmon rug,
A sallow-skinned tear somewhere lost.
a shark shifting in the space.

An array of strange emotions exists on this bedsheet,
mute noises,
my eye of pastel sleep,
I expand a blurb of my mind all across this room,
in whispers,
noises as an arc,
the room is bleached now,
the stains like a parchment.

Things sit like a memory in our body of verbose light,
peeled, light as a foam.

Loneliness

All these years, I have known the distinctive pleasure

of loneliness,

How it rotates it’s straw beneath my tender tongue.

The diaphragm splintering.

and blooming into a void of silence.

Days gone by,

Soiled and fractured bones.

I hear a sudden twitch of my collarbone,

A stubborn slap of liquid clock,

Abandoning this body of goddess.

How does one become a mannequin?

One simply stares and blinks,

Abandoning

the vacancy of emptiness.

Twirling with frills of lunacy,

Shallow& hot.

Hot& porcelain pain.

A feverish stare

Of orange stomach into the sky of violet detachment.

There.

And you become a terrible word in the sky.

A terrible, terrible wound.

counting hours for the doctor’s rush.

Loneliness does that to you,

It seeks a shade into your darkness,

Ladders of ambiguous scars.

A blind engulfed comfort.


Check out my latest poem here on tasthermind.com.

Revival

NaPoWriMo#30, prompt- A minimalistic poem

what is that throbbing between my cheeks?
a poetry fallen so perfectly.
a hue of colors.
Quiet, quiet, quiet,
it delivers spring and autumn,
a convex point of life and death,
slipping between my things now.
listen to it,
a wound of loss.
a gratitude of survival,
it’s the conversation happening between poetry and my nude body.
A life of ink stained walls,
residing, dying along with my eyelids.


For more poetry check out my insta handle @my.valiant.soul

Things that slip

Napowrimo#9

Where I walk, where I sleep Flowers bloom, ivy creeps The turning world, the gift of life Mine

Whirl like topaz,
hear exhaustive voices, all like a mother-daughter relation.
Watch a point of Stagnation. Reverberation. Too much cold.
and carry the footsteps behind,
live, live like a flower on a naked body.

There are no cloying questions of life.
You will fail if you swallow life.
Don’t.
Don’t fidget about the atmosphere.
Observe these crazy annoying things in your mind.
Lillies blooming and dying.

Things as soft as a petunia.
Things are as dark as my mind.
Let them slip, oiled and kneaded
into the stack of insomnia and other wild things.
Do not think.
Conjunction of mind is a beautiful process.
So let it be.

Speed creating a sliced illusion,
you cant’ defy filthy chipped minds and nails.
Let the process of leaking begin.
Watch it once again.
How your body floats, finger evaporates up in the sky.
That glorious sky, now.

Watch it fall again.
Things that make you full.
Rains, flowers, mushrooms
bouncing like peals of laughter of unborn.
hear it… hear it again.
Let things crack in your small aperture.