waking up alone

amy
a sweet supposition of staying –

a berry-like beau living in little
exchange of a light dream,
dying in the rapture of its brilliance
in a paint-peeling world,

a likely return to the existing
absence of its past, a sky white
wakefulness towards its own burning –

a river, a moon fretting over
a hundred years of dashed hopes, of brittle
triumphs –

twenty-seven miles breaking
hearts, still making dreams,
negotiating for rainbow griefs,

rising, chasing, waking up alone

all for a similar kind of relief.

.

For MLM Menagerie’s Music Challenge on Moon River. I chose to go with Amy Winehouse’s cover. The above outline was something I drew recently. It has been 7 years now that she’s gone. The title is based on one of her tracks.

Also linking it up, albeit a little late, with dVerse OLN.

what i think when i think about myself

IMG_20180627_194322_462

the unembellished glass on my window
is not of a reflecting kind, it changes color
with the sun’s brow, disguised by its own
retention of what hitherto it did beget –

when i think about selves, i mirror
the glass of my window, and pluck apples
from my eyes to taste the sense of sight,
and single out every experience in its own light,

when i think about lives, i snigger
like the loony bark of the mutt outside, and push
into the so-called oblivion, a thought to right
the wrongs of being one of a kind, of this plight,

when i think about you, i am triggered
by your mirror of my own life, and try to pick
from your eyes, any sign of a comic relief, to indict
myself for subsumption of an egotistic delight,

when i think about myself, i quiver
like the potent wine of the sky outside, and pull
out from my own self, a torn thought to site
every memory, to extinguish into the night.

.

For Poets United Midweek Motif

Photo edited through Instagram and Prisma

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*Linking with dVerse OLN

lash me by your wind

convergence-of-the-four-winds-michelle-vynConvergence Of The Four Winds by Michelle Vyn

be the wind of lost thought
seeking redemption of ideas

that burn

inside the hollow eyes,

have you ever thought of that pink scarf,
bleached, tattered, zooming through the sky
like a fake smile on your lips?

have you ever heeded the power of a blow
of air on the birthday candles, how it
erases the years lived?

be the wind that you can’t be,
be a smelly fart if need be,
be an ode to nature, or
a quatrain that seeks nothing.

do you know of the neck
that was adorned atop the light
house, where I stood, the wind:
my body, my sheath, my life,

and how it felt to be suspended
with nothing else to spare
but for a breath of air,
hair ruffled,
silences bespoken;

do you know that neck
belonged to me?

I died that second,
and I have been dying
thenceforth.

I am the wind, I am
the power,

and I am invariably caught
in this struggle.

.

Image source
Linking it up with Poets United Midweek Motif.

i am smelling secrets

ETNA PLUS

not that you need to know
but would you like to know a secret?

it’s the curiosity of the unknown that
betrays your smile,

…ha ha…

it’s funny, no?

it was a morning, a dusk at dawn
when he walked alone on the sky
leaving a trail of forlorn vapors,

I knew that it was him, with his
usual tardiness, with ill begotten
terms of endearment, and sly words
whispered beneath the cloak of
midnight.

it was an evening, an enraptured death,
there was the usual sweat in the wind,
and I was walking down the memory lane,
when the wrinkled leaves swept by us,

“Why would you do this to yourself?” he asked,
and I said, “Why… that’s a secret”.

secrets are the aesthetic of our society wherein
the secret lies in the fact that secrets are not kept.

it’s funny, no?

not that you need to know,
would you, would you like to keep a secret
and hold it to your bosom, hide it in the folds
of your desires, because what else would you
hold so dear?

and would you promise to keep it,
by smearing your blood on my lips,
by flipping a coin, by caressing
the calluses on my feet?

there are skeletons in the closet
with a perplexed smile, mold has
taken hold of them and lies grow
instead of skin in its pale sheen.

it’s funny, no?

.
Image source

For Poets United Midweek Motif

acquiesce

 

nature1

when the light spilled out in the open,
I took a pause, my stride halted in that pulse
as they moved ahead,

his curls were visible in the crowd and her
pacified smile,
it was when the dark and light conquered
each other that I knew of those punctured
holes in my chest, I acknowledged my skin
in its composite radiance…

the distance covered itself, and holding hands
became arbitrary to my nature of resistance,

and letting my fingers entangled in her locks,

I saw to it that I would need, I would be human,
I would want to be found.

when the light spilled out in the open,
my heart was wrenched out of my open self,
and my bloodied hands traced the curves
of my laughter as its thunder boomed
against the sky, and the savage sun
spilled more light,
and the wailing winds fell into my eyes.

it was Elpis that rose from that gaping
hole, a new birth of dying, an old ending
to the origin of life,

open –

they saw the light.

.

For Poets United Midweek Motif.