Shades of emotion-the black-the red-the grey

Image result for red and black

The Black

Hoops of the anxious soul are hanging in the most voracious way.I hear thunder, rustling silence.This is my first phase, anger.

The intimidating red eyes. The eyes of satan, they say. The faded shades of grey, charcoal, as my wrist remain crossed.

I put my wrist on top of my forehead.The sagging forehead.

The conundrum geography exists right here, sharply ecstatic.

Hot wax, profound depth, a lingering cold wave.

A dark, gruesome heart.

A ghost- like canopy of thoughts.

The Red.

This is a melancholic phase.

A lugubrious red sorrow shining on my pinky finger, the tales of the darkly skinned elbow.

the bends on my skin, my crooked skin.

the way sky forms uneven patterns,

leaving us bewildered of the richness, the great creations.

All I see is complexities, the bars of a collision, gateway of numbness.

A stoppage.

The vague dreams.

Now the heart is crooked.

The Grey.

A wave of cornered soul resists like the last droplets of rain.

Tiring yellow pages, not desiring to be read further.

Monotonous paths, monotonous tones, monotonous human.

I kiss my pain in a breezing way, hugging my own doleful pits.

the screams forms chains of comfort, the sky is indicating a pattern,

the crookedness is recovering into a deeper hole

name it comfort?Name it a bliss. Oh!Don’t name it.

As it’s still  a vivid hole, murky,

dark, distilled in my conscious, collided with my mindset,

it’s grey here, my palm is feverish

my eyelids are the coherence of deeper shades of grey

this is the phase,

this is the ultimate revival, mystical.



 

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Disappearance

One of the most beautiful photos. So simple, but the mixture of the hand and the light...just gorgeous perfection.

Rubbing my fragile hands over my soiled neck,
I felt a vibration from the crooked radio’s tune
The twirls of flaccid rays and patterns of black and white
always speak the sweet dazzling truth.
My mouth says the violent words as my eyes perch on illusion.
This world makes me sick and sick till my heart spills
collision, evaporation, disappearance.
I am a convex tube of dying lotus,
sinking on the ebb of dark air. I am dark, yet beautiful.
Palpitations of bleeding words, conjure my virgin existence.
I hear your cactus voice, deciphering and churning my own blessings
I am sick today. I am no one today for my poetry even rests today.

©My Valiant Soul


 

Some things to say!!#3

Allright so my dear readers this is a kind of reminder to all to please know the importance of this blogging community.

I am here to write down my emotion through my poetry and prose and on the way I have met splendid writers which I really look forward to.

But off late I have noticed the kind of comments I get and the kind of follows I  am getting that really just is annoying. I do not wish to chat here about my personal stories and this for sure is not a dating site. I by no means will allow that and will not follow you back until you captivate me in some way or other!

So kindly give reverence and get reverence likewise!

_My Valiant Soul

Anonymous Bond

Indian-Tradition

Do you hear me breathing? In the moments of translucent air,
where our breaths collapses and cling onto each other,
where the crooked walls burst, like jackfruit ripening
purple colours pouring onto our bed covers here I breathe
contours of sparkling waters brushing my dead spirit, fully awake.
The screams, shouts, jingle,
And splashing of Ganges water on my shivering feet,
Awake, awake, awake.
Spinning the floor, spinning in your mind, do you hear me breathing?
I draw my gold carvings on your teeth, on your body
where the twinnings of winter tree is chopped,
You hear the chopping?
I extend my feet, they are poetry.
I extend my white cadaverous feet on your sturdy shoulder,
Do you hear me wheezing?
Do you see a lake of satisfaction splashed on my arms now?
Do you see, do you hear my red songs?
You are my canvas. You are my unnamed bond.



 

As-I-Worship-Winter

 

image credits- Pinterest

 

Romancing with winter involves more than seduction to its frosty night. There is a pit darker inside the walls of a colossal ball of shadow. A shadow where skins of lost soul bloom. A pool of infinite kisses. The chills of silent lustrous night expand in the most imposing manner, like the feathers of peacock romancing with the rain.

The icing on the cherry-trees, the dew of the moon stuck to my window panes that resemble my naked face. Oh, I am beautiful.

Emancipation from the shallow hollows of palm, I see patterns of sweet nectar dripping from the sky, drip by drip, onto my cheekbones and I am a lyric once again.

The full moon shares its forlorn stories to my healing lips. I am a partner in solitude and war. It teaches me the art of sustenance—flourishing like the wild sunflower. The touches of laughter of the newly born, the spiritual talks of the old ladies, dedicate me more to the flowers of Winter.

I emerge from the last rains and beneath the elasticity of murmurs, I inhale potions of infinite joy.

©My Valiant Soul


 

I am you today

 

 

image credits- Pinterest

 

In the melancholic time,
when the dark howl craws
In the harrowing soils mask,
where the river flow is backwards
I bask in the sunshine,
towards the bridge of memories.
my skin knits
I am sun-kissed today,
like a morsel of apple-pie
sulking on my white bare skin
I am a memory today.
where the sweet honey clings my tongue
pouring my holiness into your laps
I am a pattern to be formed, embellished
I am aliferous today, this moment.

©My Valiant Soul


 

A new Place

 

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image credits- Saatchi art

 

I have travelled the soils of Africa and beyond the sustenance of crisp air,
Like an empty bowl of the eclipse, succumb trees, galvanized moisture,
My eyes speak unspoken words, unruly truth, my naked eye is poisonous often.
Amenable spikes of charcoal reside here, I wander and wander.
To a place, I visited once, I saw liquor and sad eyes, that was my home.

I see here residue of hopes and an unknown particle, effete smells of unknown skin, What is this place, I have come to?

My palpable arms hurt the Meraki created by the previous storms, yet I see hideous smiles. Above the lustrous Earth and below the clandestine sky, I stand like the virgin flower, dead or alive, insouciant caricature.

©My Valiant Soul


 

You are beautiful

 

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image credits- google

 

Tear off the mask, your face is glorious”— Rumi

Unscathed beams of sunshine ripple along your pious cheeks,
There lie a canopy of precious words,
decorating your soul with white beauty,
where rivers of unruffled jasmine travel.
The scent is you, like a home of lavender candles
burning your mind, your beautiful mind.
Fabrication of art and beauty lies in your smile
Titanic view of sunrays, a holy reflection of poetry.
Seduction of smells entices your body like an opening of a lotus.
You evolve like the skin of the moon.
So, I become your hidden reflection.

©My Valiant Soul


 

Concoction of Flavours

In the encapsulating shimmers of prodigious beautiful skins,
I am a traveller to time zone of your dewy skin
As the geometrical curves make my heart merry,
I count the ways of savouring your skin bites
like fine red sharp thread, threads of love
In the windowpane, I venerate you as my sun,
the Usher of sparkling twilight disguised
as your particle.
Half dawn, half dusk,
your skin is a beautiful myth.
The blithe seaside waves inferior to your footsteps
conjure my eyelids with your memories,
And I feel pepper, salt and sugar.
Your honeysuckle orchid calves
pay reverence to my naked skin.
I breathe the last night fallen star,
scaring myself like your texture
And so I am a basket of infinite part of you.
I am the other you.

-My Valiant Soul