A beautiful mind – Devika Mathur

 

I feel a sudden twitch today,
Blue as this cold dead water ripple.
Flavored sniffs of nocturnal touches of laughter,
all wrapped in the thin film of a small garden,
watching,
watching me like a ghost.

Liquids.
My body is one today, floating in abysmal.
Plagiarism of mouth often haunts my brain.
And each time, i pick up my fallen canvas of dreams,
emptying, filling, emptying…
the process takes a day or a night.
I am broken like complete poetry.

There is a method of how I decay.
I believe it is the greatest notion.
the greatest form of art, you should learn.
I hear it,
the drumming windows of that ghost.
I feel abortions, thousand of them in my belly, like that.

And then there is my mirror,
hollow, small, flowing.
a twig of spring inside my mouth,
popping up to show my mind,
a beautiful mind.

closure

 

and i am done for today,
the grey hopes, stoned and tied.
A torrential wave of numb waters,
flushing, choking.
i sit on the ground where a fly wilts,
sticking its head on the soil.
To be a morose winter, maybe.
And i resemble that.
My hands are not butter anymore,
they do not count stars,
they stink rather of filth/  bluish trepidation.
And I am done for the day, like that.

A giver

Ig@ daijanna (d.a.ij.a.n.n.a)


I have given your mouth a flutter,

To splutter and swallow

The numb atoms of lights.

I am a giver, a pacifier.

Poultice to your scarred eyelids.

I bloom inside you,

Your atlas of belly button.

A splinter of moon,

Beneath the crumble of your pillow

To talk and soothe,

I am a giver.

My green veins of lantern love,

Curtains on lips,

You on me , a gateway.

I give you moon and the sun.

Drizzling springs favorite song

On my flat body now.

To suffice what has leaked,

To make my words, a crisp song.

Animalistic

Cereus Florus

So, wild things happen. This male, son of a bitch, comes back yet again with all his nonsensical poetries and honeyed, rabelaisian tactics to lure female(s) to rest in his boiling, hungry pot belly. And this animalistic human-hound feeds on your vulnerabilities and frangibilities; throws you naked onto the dark streets with your organs ripped apart of your hollow skeleton for scavengers’ blood treat.

There lies your heart. Misty, shameless, broke and smoky. Plundered and looted off your dignity and feminism. And, you roam on the streets begging for forgiveness, while he fucks your mind with every breath of past you inhale. You are hooked on blood-red fingers and toes, you’re inhumane. Worthless. Just like him.

You carried out the ritualistic patterns passionately, only to find the realized truth lately. You were reckless. I’d say, you deserve it but, my heart and skull go along the same lines as yours…

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Ways of surviving

Image result for vintage photos black and white
I want to offer my body
petals of seduction,
curved and surviving
into the madhouse of sickness
to the surviving lotus.
I may not scream as icicles of tears,
with hallow bites of you clinging my wrist,
Engines of ruffled sleeps,
constant pain and pool of madness,
I want to offer my naked eye
hanging blurred stiff body-
to the callous of falling bodies.
you & your sickened friend,
your friend & your shimmering body joints,
You see, my body became a home of insanity,
with ashes, leftovers,
clocks of loose time.
You see, i have been there,
dripping like cold blood.
And, i sniff and hurt more and more.

MVS

Mode of expressions

How do I express my anxiety?

Let me dip my nails and bite my skin,

with the horrors of iterative chills

like a wood spanking my cheekbones

Colour changing, chameleon tongue.

I am pulverized in this shade of trance,

with my thoughts eating my red eyelids.

Pich and pluck or pluck and pinch

Spit and run or run and spit

The ebb of heart rises like high tides in sigh.

I sit in this corner, burning now

along with the burning ink.

Physical Existence- Devika Mathur

Dyslexia, into my thin membrane
to hear your wounding tales
Pervicacious drops of blood stick to my venom
I hear wars, tremors, haze into the folds of my skin,
like palpable beggar’s eye.
My white bed-sheet mark my body with cuts, acidic tears
Proliferating porous permanent scars
Hush, my words are twisting into my own stomach,
My thick mouth deteriorates again and again
Observe my skin, its expanding its dimensions
Changing seasons, changing colours
Squalid eyes pinch the glance, time pokes thorns on my tongue
Am I a myth, still being a reality?
Or I am the reality in your venal liquid baked body.

©My Valiant Soul