screwed (iii)

reverie

pulling and pushing
into each other,
apart from each other,

the red becomes mellow, and
pink dreams arrive in a wave
of a desert storm,

i remember my home
through your tongue,

i remember my death
at your teeth’s artistry.

like a fly, i wait at the doorstep
before seeking to enter
at the exit.

.
© Anmol Arora

Read screwed and screwed (ii)
Image source (Reverie by Richard Taddei)

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first meeting

964593-6
of an igniting kind,
your eyes held an allure,
the iridescent gaze never touching me,
but keeping stable the carefully-crafted
space between us,
between restraint and desire,
demarcating our manner of speaking,

i wonder if you knew of my need to forego any
responsibility, why i did not take the first step
towards breaking the hazard of a first meeting,

i had held my words close to my chest,
tasted eucalyptus at the back of my tongue,
crafting the sounds of my voice in a way
that they shall not dissect this set order,

i was scared, i am scared, still, that i can
not be trusted to peer through a pair of eyes
to know or begin to know, all that i seek
and all that i may want,

your resting pose only perplexed me,
i seemed to be lost in my sapling-like
mind, a single thought rising in warmth
(this is where it begins to fade)
drinking the sunlight off your face, and
the silence of my dusk-enamored smiles.

your leave-taking compounded my interest
in that yearning, and not your absence —
i keep it near and vanquish the details
of the loneliness, of that solitary evening,
which is not mine to hold on to.

it is also yours. i accept,
pulling back my heartstrings.

.

© Anmol Arora

Image source (Man with a heart-IV by Stanislav Bojankov)
Linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads

moving on

 

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you are lost, as i lost
in your loss.

the seas of time have come ashore,
flooding and taking away all that
remains —

you were once there, drinking
the moon wine (it is you who
brought me the white for a late
dinner), and addled potions of
a lone star at my lone window,

it’s at the end, that it all began,
the turbulence of words (said
and unsaid) created voids, built
of a few nights’ fantasized storms,

you made me see the fire-glass
that only showed your visage,
your eyes growing pit-wise, you,
yours only – form and facsimile –

and i knew that i did not have to
leave, because you were not there,
never meant to be, and so it was —

a singular bulb fuse that flickered
out, into the emptiness of the room.

~

© Anmol Arora 2018

More of a frustration than a heartbreak — For dVerse Poetics
Also linking it up with The Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads

And I somehow found something to go with it. Ha! Image source (Light Headed 3 by Leah Saulnier)

***

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.

Falling off

a goodbye would be when I fall off the sky,

into the arms of genteel earth, to embrace

the two tomorrows, of existing no more,

putrefy my furtive flesh, black bones into

the granular sand, returning to the birth,

that watered the roots of the world tree,

of which I came out to be a red raw fruit,

sheathed by the leaves, that shielded it

from sly storms, but every cold seeps in,

to their unaware natures, applying layers

of first frost, ingraining icicles within, and

as this youngling falls off before maturation,

the seeds do not burst, when it splits open

into a chamber of plain platitude of emptiness

.

Image source

For dVerse Poetics, where the prompt is to write about trees.

Platter of words

being famished, malnourished of the words,

adorned on a sapphire platter, looking sumptuous,

but as I try to pick one of them, it disappears,

leaving behind thin air, devoid of those nouns,

adjectives, verbs and prepositions, I so desire,

but they are not for me to grab, and gobble down,

I am meant to sleep empty, without a trace

of something creative, to simmer in my mind,

the concoction of imagination, thus remains dried,

and I look for the flies with an incredible vision,

into the worlds of worlds of chronicles,

so that I could seize them into my fist and

appeal for a single ray of light, that could

awaken my senses, making me experience things,

agitating me to see new dreams, the slivers

of which can be scattered on the pages,

bringing to existence, the wondrous universes,

still unexplored, for me to step through,

and find that one fruit I could feast upon,

to fill up my drained urn with a fragment,

of a blessing of that miraculous muse

.

I am looking for poetry collaborations. If you would be interested in writing a poem with me, you can write to me at hamusesanewtune@gmail.com or you can leave your e-mail address in the comments section. Also, if you would like me to write about something/someone particular(like yourself… :-)), please do tell me. I would be glad to do so.

I am tagging it as the poem for 8 November for NaBloPoMo. I have also joined the team, Nano Poblano, in the leadership of wonderful Rarasaur. Do share your feedback and also, leave a link to one of your posts. Thank you.