soliloquy of a season’s change

3589185-tkqrvitk-32

morning winds weigh heavier and
the body feels like a helium balloon,
canvassing the landscape through
a bare string — surrounded in a haze
of lost headspaces, memories that
do not bring home the sense of peace,
all comfort cashed without a receipt.

when we have lived through the seasons,
it shouldn’t matter how long they last —
the fan rotates on its axis, turned very low
in a gentle rush of air to breathe all loss,
to compensate for mosquito bites felt/left
in the after-state of a day’s place of rest,

as the summer picks its tinders and twigs,
writes a farewell letter (a suicide note
that was discovered before its fulfillment),
and picks on its scabs and scars that
have survived the test of every crime
witnessed by the tender body of life —
high, helium, heavier, halfway done.

i pull back from the edge of the flight —
the flock of weathered passions and aged
ruminations, all in confinement —

i choose winters — undying deaths,
mossy sepulchers, fog-white dreams
and a ponderous pause — silent,
seething, singing.

© Anmol Arora 2018

Image source (Times Change by Dmitri Matkovsky)
For Midweek Motif at PU

death of a faerie

abstract_trans_nvbqzqnjv4bqeo_i_u9apj8ruoebjoaht0k9u7hhrjvuo-zlengruma

the ancient faerie, with her
golden wings coming off
the hinges,

flicks away the sheath of
rich-grey hair
that have fallen (in love) over
her strong, stooped shoulders.

she puts away the dust-
pan and awakens through
her rusted iron-ore wand-
hand (single-spaced, spelled,
sustained),

an apparition of her
youth, her dark-eyed
energy of yesteryears

— the pneuma that always finds its
return, inwards,
outwards,
back to its source —

a golden woman, a silver lifeline,
and the womb of death,

the midnight carriage moving
towards
an unflinching,
hundred-wrinkled,
time-bound
end.

© Anmol Arora

For With Real Toads’ Un-Fairy Tales
Image source (Willem De Kooning’s Woman II (1952))

***

I have been working on a new Insta handle for about 2 months now, for literary and creative posts: @anmol.ha.
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

bending lights

IMG_20180930_162940_145

afternoon white turns into
a scattered blue, as the river serpent
finds its way through the ivory
flowers with sun-streaked stalks

hitherto complimenting the nature
of light that dozes off at an arm’s length
of my view,

heaviness is registered in this light’s
movement through the verisimilitude
of other monochrome lights, of the changed
hues, with the galaxies of visitors, remarking
on its bathed reverence.

the marble captures
the after-fluorescent impact
in its tiled capsules as an exploration
of the history of gravity’s hold over
the dead bodies and their afterthoughts,

for that marks the beginning of the ending,
the universe that gathers many lights and holes
to fill them in,

unentangled, they curve like a day-
old bouquet of thoughts,

time shifts its melodies in the continuum
of this apprehensive physical
communication —

the lights turn the pallor
of shadow, becoming one of its own,
one not to be afraid of,

not knowing why
the grave situation
beckons their control.

.

© Anmol Arora 2018

Finally got to visit the iconic Taj yesterday — it was a less than satisfactory experience. Still, the beauty of this monolith is unparalleled, perhaps deriving so much from both its physical features as well as the sum total of its histories and legends. The above is a snapshot from the opposite bank unable to capture every changing color as the sun that was harsh all day long receded to nothingness — the singular moment when time and space became their own solace. And thus, this evening lament for all things be.

For With Real Toads’ Physics with Bjorn. Also linking it up with Poetry Pantry at PU.

***
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

death of a kiss

the_dark_kiss_by_eitherangel
unearthed trinkets of lust
taken by my lips —
bitten —

bitumen of the roads left
behind —

quick-quirky-beats rise quickly
like moon-quivering-tides.

drink one on me, through me,

as i

taste the memory of your
kitschy kiss,
hear a silver sun’s silence,
left undisturbed,

ululating — dying.

.
© Anmol Arora 2018

For dVerse Quadrille # 64
Image source (An interesting reproduction and interpretation of Klimt’s The Kiss)

***
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

a dark communion

fall_down_by_jungshan

the crow perched on the black railing,
our dark eyes confronted each other
for a moment,

he thought it to be inconsequential,
looked hither-thither and flew away
in a gust of air, that hung before me,
leaving a trance-like image,
right before my difficult breath,

if i were him, i would have done away
with it, but his nonchalance
only made me wary
of my own condition,

i am burning without fever,
i am shivering without cold,

the food has lost its flavor,
water, its pungent taste,
to drench the morsels of belief,

what if

this was it, this is it,
this would be all —

this unremarkable grey sky
reduced to my grey vision,
my pudgy, little fingers
no longer capable,

every thought bursting in its own smoke –
left-over chunks of an explosion –

this wrecked structure, this unused
view —

would i be afloat
when i fall?

~

© Anmol Arora 2018

For Midweek Motif at PU
Image source

***

I have been working on a new Insta handle for over a month now, for literary and creative posts: @anmol.ha.
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.