As I write this, I am reminded of all the wonderful poetry,prose that I have been reading for All Ears– An ezine for youth which has been edited by me along with five other editors. With an eye of an editor, it is never an easy task to analyse any piece but with the collective effort I am more than happy to present before you our first issue- You can download it here and enjoy it for free. The inaugral issue is filled with some brilliant artwork, poetry,prose etc. I hope you all shall enjoy and consider it for future submissions.:)
the rivers that speak of us,
warmer bodies
nectars of jasmine and hibiscus-
a lady from photograph,
biting a strange loneliness sitting onto her bosom
a strange memory of distilled longings-
a lady that sulks and pronounce everything watery,
dreams of wildfire and river-beds
I travel through her caricature,
her oblong drifting fingers,
eyes of pain and despair-
eyes- a mirage of limbs too,
I watch her and think of this pregnant sky
day and night.
She- a soliloquy od soft pastel dreams.
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https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul
Scissors often draw a diagram
On my cold slender hands,
A light peeks in, as if to tell something new.
A light
A hope.
A hiccup that stops another hiccup.
This light, a soft tune to my ears.
What do I consider this art of life?
A hummus stain on my sequin dress.
A quiet noise, inside my vase body.
It's interruption.
If a thing dies, let it be.
Let the hand sink.
Let the light go.
Let things go.
Get my book here-
Crimson Skins
It’s about us. Our static atmosphere which keeps changing its dimension. Through the clandestine mouths of river and a dark cloud. At times, there is nothing but a tainted shadow our love growing a thick layer of fungus. We grow, anyway.
We grow and talk about the leftover meals, the swollen flowers of our garden, everything falling apart. Hush! We do not speak of the silence that lingers our throat sitting like a huge wound on our chest. The sad, forlorn shackles of stark grief. What goes beyond is treacherous, as if. A landscape dipped in the shades of sunsets and piquant feelings, a leaf coiling into a serpent. A flower wilting into a moth, things happen, just like that.
The screams are a reflection of an unslept sky. The dying women in neighbours. The abhorrence that is a moisture to the nature. Nature- it often mocks our grilled love and considers it a green fever. We grow anyway. We grow through the carcass, a catastrophe of splitted existence. Through kitchen sinks, chairs and through people, we grow like melted wax. A sharp body shedding its skin through and through.
Please checkout my collection- Crimson Skins now on Amazon, Pothi and kindle. It will mean a lot to me.
Hi, Welcome to my poetry world yet again. I guess we all have no better solution rather than staying positive and hopeful. I am glad to feel this positive vibe yet again after all that India has been through and is still dealing. I am trying to do as much as I can and that includes taking care of my mental health as well.
Sharing a poem. Let me know your views and in general how life has been treating you all?:)
And maybe this shall never end-
Here, I rest my palms along with the stars,
honey-suckled,
twigs of sunsets
hoping for tree of wishes
a spoon of lukewarm winters
which sits beside my small mind
a roar of summer breeze,
producing so much that only my heart can see,
and maybe this shall never end-
yet I long for coral sweaters,
grass
attachment layered sky
above and below-
the dreamcatchers
in the grainy rain.
Our mouths unravelling
and spitting a tongue of hibiscus growing
scrubbing:
scrubbing all the sins away
lights spinning- gold,
poppies in a bathtub
and leaves fluttering across our bodies-
we want this,
a human touch
a human being, indeed.
If you love reading my poems and works you might enjoy my book Crimson Skins. I can’t believe it is soon going to be an year for my book and each time I hold my baby, I am choked with pride. You can get your copies on Kindle, Amazon, Pothi etc.
I am delighted to announce that recently I was a part of an interview done by Pooja of Lifesfinewhine. We discussed a few aspects of Art in a short, crisp way. Head over to her blog to read my interview and all the lovely things she writes there and do show your love to all her blog posts.
the voice cracks in the summer sun
I hear things falling apart
underneath my door knob
behind the cobweb- almost gone now
i hear things decaying,
distorted as the morning yawn
the leaves so parched
the sun , cold and warm
there is a music that stops playing as i write this
the music that speaks about fallen dreams,
listless curvature of atmosphere.
stillness is what i observe 'stillness in my body, my toes and lips
the earth so happy and warm now
almost like a cerulean sadness
torn into threads of bruises
into diverse sects of lemon dried faces.
the hands so small and white
with my bosom hanging restlessly on the table.
there are things so peculiar occurring everywhere.
restless yet a still monochrome pattern of life
But this sorrow never ends. The tongue that runs cold due to platonic threads of sins and cold meadows the ache is blooming each day beneath the blue unfolded eyes the colour green- now a tone of burning bodies this is my survival song, you see with lines cryptic sunset on my lap the night never fades away the soil enriched with a glint of my water my heavy overwhelming collapsing lungs. this poem shall not soothe you- instead would ask you to hunt something more some more of air, water, sun , fire. in your neighborhood about the fallen leaves. dry tongues, neck choking. about things so unpleasant you would not otherwise want to know.
Dear readers, How have you been all? Even though I write my poetry and words and keep on doing so many various projects to help the writing community and people in general why is there a sudden urge to relax a lot? I agree I need to take a pause. I believe in slow yet productive growth but somehow my mind is getting tired to easily due to all the works I am managing and no its not the stress that I have. It's something else. Anyway, I wrote a short poem about how I feel.
The air burns, with a punctured sniff. the breeze sits on my chest counting my eyelids, backwards and the body swells up without a notion of cold blossoms. The air petrifies my nail, the tears stink, often. It's the forehead, it's the arm or is it my lips that hallucinates? A cobweb, so brutal on my chin blooming like a flower. What do I call it now? The season of spring or a particle of dust.
My days in afternoon are nothing like yours,
I spend most of it by bird- watching,
Somersaulting colors of the sky,
I sip my chamomile tea to prepare my mind
for the evening’s strangers visit to my head.
My days are nothing like yours,
I adorn my necklaces again and again,
repetitive rituals often act like a slippery therapy.
Quiet and nostalgic.
Moments of velvet sadness.
I end my nights by weeping a little more,
by diffusing some hot coconut oil in my lamp,
to cease the heartache with a portion of leftover food maybe
as insane as it must be.
These are the things I do, to protect myself.
I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it. Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
And there is almost nothing but this silence with which I caress my pallid numb thoughts mud stained- inner knuckles, fingernails growing all small and ugly and not just that, but I sleep with my dirty longings as well. Bed of misery beneath the flesh of tongue. Endless field of dark fragmented hopes/ You name it. I wonder if this will be the season of spring inside my dreary grassland Of beautiful spring flowers things that resonate with the Earth, the moon and the stars. Will it be a hiccup or a lost prayer? ———————————————————————————-
I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it. Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
The flesh is incoherent the nuance of this body is sand all things that sit inside my bones, tremble like sounds unheard, from the Indian mountains it begins to crack piece by piece as if it is the wail of time as if there is no neck to this body. Humans- all that they love, sinks beneath, somewhere. And my eyes become wrinkled pomegranate seeds awash beside the uprooted trees of misery.
I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it. Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
I am quiet too often like the empty hallways, humming a song already forgotten with a tilting toe towards the sun a sigh: pink fingers dipped in pain a sigh: pink fingers dipped in hallucination there is a staircase now falling beneath my parting head half towards left, half towards right days whistling on sea waves about my country in flames, about my city in illusions
watching a cloud things fall under the feet now a complete loss of sense tiny leaflets fluttering
green songs that reflect nothing. the survival becomes a pungent smell often with absent glares and a blue sea that is a part of my dream.
My poetry collection is receiving all the love for which I am truly thankful to each one who supported it. I produced my book out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here-
Yellow – scratched and heavy an unknown desire to melt between the stasis of the sky. Yellow, a color that dissolves inside my thin muscles, my tongue wired up with your name, a loose sheet of kiss and melancholy, Yellow: a quiet tapestry that hangs loose bearing limbs out of balance bearing mouths dripping foolish sins. An external pain of the body, a pain crisp as our bedsheet
I am a bunch of memories that belong to the sky patched and cornered.
__________________________________________
I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it.
