Tag Archives: Life

fiction and poetry, Poems, Poetry

Answer

The answer to silence :
Is a breath of someone you remember

It seeps into yours lips,
It blossoms up your neck
Turns it into a tendril drowsed in rain.

It caresses the lungs, painting them
In hues or orange, red and shallow yellow.

Your toes move when you hear me.
Have you ever noticed?

A freckle gleams and shapes the arc of cheeks.
Its like the summer where you met me.
Its the summer , you shall never have again.

I became the monsoon, after that,
Turned you into a rainforest
Drop by drop.

Like it should always have been.
Always.

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fiction and poetry

Dream

A memory of your smell :
an enslavement, so clandestine.
It tunes my arteries to sing,
like the waves do
for purposes unknown.

I ebb away from this nonchalant madness
and turn into a moon-kissed star dust.

I now abhor the lick of light.
It separates us unknowingly.
The dominions of our touch has fallen,
This city of love has no survivors,

Just bottles of unopened whiskeys and fresh roses,looming over this graveyard of our new birth.

SB

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fiction and poetry

Generosity for Ounces of Madness

The morning lights do not dissolve for me.
I don’t know how you all do it,
It becomes a rain of a million unapologetic needles,
ruffling my hair, the scalp and the bored skull.
Damned, be they, Damned be the generosity for its alluring brightness.

These eyes have forgotten to shut down early.
The madness has been accumulating
ounce by ounce.
Like a cat ready to pounce with its warm toes
on the dead freezing body
to taste the cold with its tongue
in successive unforgiving licks.
The madness pounces in the morning.

I have become used to these never-ending work shifts,
by driving a dying car to a dying place,
in a dying body.
I have become used
to the half-baked bacon burgers,
to the caffeinated miseries.

There is no end to it.
There will never be.
Just a beginning exists.
Just a light that wrecks the day.

After every dooming night.
I got used to it.
Eventually,
I became generous
for the little ounces of madness,
to survive.

SB

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creative-writing, Poems, Poetry

The Girl with Ouija Board

Dark sinister whisperings
rouse my soul up,
‘Every Tongue has a demon
buried within its veins, for
it gives birth to thirst,
lust and blood.’

She told me before sleeping.
Archaic hymns, butchered lemons
drowned in vinegar, disappeared behind
a mist of lavender smelling candles,
apexed at pentagram made of saffron.

I feel her curves turn cold,
the lips turn ominously black,
‘Eyes are windows to this world,
darkness is the passage to all other’
she keeps murmuring,holding my hand
till it is not she anymore.

I could sense it the way my hands are touched,
the way she removes her clothes then
and the way she kisses.
She never told her of her fetishes
and now I can’t even ask.
Ever.

– SB

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