salt of the earth

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A storm brewed in her heart

The one she arose to, was just the start.

The cold gnawed into her breastbone where

A lair of desires convulsed 

with the sorrow of a lost dream.

Suspended still in animation. 

 

Your wet mouth she felt deep within.

Teeth seeking her spine up the navel of birth. The primordial canal of her beginning.

Where it is? 

She couldn’t find 

her insanity. When it is now,  she

wanted to push you 

and your blighty madness in her matrix that was becoming. 

 

Words hanging there reachable, her arms paralysed.

Unable to pick them, as you lay absorbed, in between her, 

raving in the layers of your twilight. 

Within, beneath, above and through.

Feral tongue twisting in her softness and black.

Usurping the valley of sweetness and

fresh salt, 

hidden in the forest you always thought you had sought. 

 

A minute of you, is a lifetime of sin, 

she thought.

The thunder agreed with the gale and the branches swayed in unison and might,

All day long…

A lonely sparrow cooed meanwhile, all night long…

Kanmani (Creation)

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She held her palms open on a blue,

blue day, while the sky poured open

in honour of her mind.

A wistful grey cloud lay out beyond.

The cracking whip of a thunder and

cold whispers, tore into the

Nodes of her guileless heart.

She sought for answers amidst

What she grew to never be her own.

The damp air reaffirmed what she

never thought would have.

And there lay, like a curveball, even before

It’s life began, a hatched young lifeless bird,

The membrane of its creation, holding

every untold story of it, in her skin.

Pale, opaque beak that almost formed to sing and shut eyes that almost opened to forage,

Thin filaments of wings, that would

One day be strong to fly away, far away,

And beat the strongest of winds, up to ascension.

Though now, here it lay, in her hands, pointless, waiting to be salvaged into the earth,

That has brought all of us here.

She threw a piece of her heart, and trowelled

a lump of mud heavier than her breathe, and

Placed this lithe creation, which was here,

If only for a drop in the expanse of time,

A few inches deeper into the circle of life.

And as her praying hands buried the esse,

As deftly as she does with her dreams,

The ritual of love gave away, the embers,

The tears wrung from tired eyes, called

Another mother, who perched on the

highest branch and cooed away all the hope

She held in herself, once upon a time,

and sang a solemn requiem,

for her soul below.

Doleful Sunflowers

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Sometimes, just about sometimes, even sunflowers look better in black, white and shades of grey. These colours enhance the depth and melancholy adding a character to the picture. The scene. The mood. Which can be inspiring. Which can be poetic.

I am currently reading Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poetry and I am quite obsessed with sharing her wistful words all around, everywhere I can! So I am not surpassing this chance to share a doleful poem of hers here.

If you’re feeling blue, gray and dark, marinate in it. Breathe and seek for the reason. The lesson. And arise to feel alive again. After all, a film of tear always improves the clarity of your vision.

 

SORROW by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain

Beats upon my heart.

People twist and scream in pain, –

Dawn will find them still again;

This has neither wax nor wane,

Neither stop nor start.

People dress and go to town;

I sit in may chair.

All my thoughts are slow and brown:

Standing up or sitting down

Little matters, or what gown

Or what shoes I wear.