the colour harmony!!

Each time I end a relation,   I dust my room. Not in search of bloody remains, but for something worthwhile suddenly you get hell of a time, and you sleep endlessly. and that's how , one day,  I traveled to my pre-history. In a backyard where I made mud buns, on white earth, that turned black as I drew on it, once, I saw, yellow blue flames  twist and shake, over wooden blocks, like cabre dancers. The red embers, those peep out of wooden bars, wink, and I forget the smell of loss and my worries for a grandma, burning may be, that's how, I learnt to dance over human flesh and rise to the skies  for a moment or two, before stretching in your sleep. and calling it a day! Thus spoke Love

Revolutions are nostalgic like those early hours when u smoke,  fuck  and smoke. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . You cross the river and come to me I shall show you how the forest menstruates at midnight.

breech baby. she was a  For they said down. upside  to write a poem seven for a girl of This much was enough from beyond her infant memory. Tingles realized in sleep his penised hands. thrust upon by time and again to savor the pleasure-like in-between her legs and rolled bed sheets dreamt love Tore her grades, naked silhouettes. and saw from other rooms to midnight lust Listened over rangoli blocks. Played skipping games smelled guava.  and at the blue god She growled

I I feel the quake in my abdomen. The city crumbles over its abandoned lanes. II The million men army, The intruders on an island Cheat in the dark Slay the other and drip out. The dead men's sea Drops of holy white. Oozing cleft from the inner courtyards of the temple shrines. I My city, with its map less contours, spread like a dissected frog breathe heavily over passions fed. Kisses uprooted in the desert storm, By-lanes of her body fade in the sandbanks of he-sweat. Bosoms dissolve for the sprouting volcanoes that hiss venom For the life to be. III Passion is sin for this Adam and Eve A sin, rewarded With fruits of heaven. They are the perfect outcasts,  on earth spinning splendid in pageantry show of flesh and skin and copulation, invoking gods of sterility. I Yet, Its carnival bout and she is beautiful today drenched in her night rains of red sea. Droplets of rubies thrashing past her cities of crims...

I My mother asked me, not to smile. For, it betrayed him. His full length smile and childlike face. Primordial father he. Finger prints behind the curtains. Marbles hid in school uniform skirt blues. Memories dear and dusted. My father. Upon whom father, supposed domestic dishonored, called me a bastard. II Thus wrote she, years before. As/for me. Now glued. on to her darkness, within. A tiny peck yet to be confirmed.

The tunes you play for me are brown. With souls walking in head scarf. Short and hump. Climbing hillocks of round stones. Faceless, like extended life There is a tunnel of rails Murmuring the distant pace Heartbeats in summer. Folks of the altitude. Strolling children from heaven. Baby curls Like swings of amazons. A single bloom, yellow in a pale grey canvas Thick skies Heavy like void, of your pangs. Burial ground. Silver moon. Withdrawing lives. Slumbers of yesterdays. Glow worms. Wind. Strokes I fail to play.

This is perfect time To write a poem. I ditched my love For a lie. And said on his face, Rhythmically, with a falling intonation “I don’t love my other”. And added extra syllables As I murmured “But I don’t want him to leave me”