a sunset song

the-banquet-magritte
through my bespectacled eyes,
i cannot pinpoint when the orange
turns to blush, or when the savage
evening bares its blunt fangs for
a final feeding, and still, i am
engrossed in the spectacle of
this agitation, or the sense of
its happenstance, its belief —

a half-dead day looks down on
its own destiny, of consumption
without pleasure. my pink-gold
lips flutter in this breeze that is
no breeze and i hear the drop
of a celestial bell, coming
into being,

purple sights cartwheel in this
shadow-scene.

where do you go from here?
where do you find a colorless sunset
for your blindness?

left behind —

a nightless mood
revels in this pause, that goes on
and on,

as survival hangs by the toe-nail
of a petrified sky, pure in the pale-
horror, turning into

ashes, tears, and
undesired rebirths.

.
© Anmol Arora 2018

For The Midweek Motif at PU
Image source (Magritte’s The Banquet)

***
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

don’t stay

dionbefore-the-dusk-e1386273531465
the lights go off in the section where
dusk meets the dark tidings of time
– limitless, engorged, stagnant –
whites to become whole at
this juncture of hope,
where no one stays
when shutters
have closed
down.

don’t
stay now
either, since
my unslept dreams
resound in emptied-
out hollows of the mind —
all that was sought, to be lost,
has been found at a decried end,
where staying is no longer in need.

.

© Anmol Arora 2018

For With Real Toads’ Fussy Little Forms, where Nonets are the order of the day
Image source (Before the Dusk by Dana Dion)

***

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.

an evening reverie (iii)

16945577586_b74c312efd_z
bricks, mortar, dull-white paint shedding
down the wall — the iron rods sticking out
like the full flush of loneliness — pennies
stuck to my palate — empty eyes stinging

with an evening demand for staying, clay
pots scattered, broken melon lips linking
skies with mouthed words, those unsaid
are never too dull – fuchsia pink – boiling

tricks, sweating armpits, a pulsing heat —
smoking, sweltering, steaming —

.

Image source

That kind of an evening — linking it up with Poetry Pantry at PU.

an evening reverie (ii)

2830878-dqhjgkkh-7

signaling the day-end is a light
soft to touch, sweet in its flavor, dark
in its attire, wiping smiles and words
from my ramshackle lips  – empty eyes

carrying in its hold wry remembrance,
it tricks me by wind-woven fingers,
playing with a velvet shadow, blue-green
in color, smooth dew-leaves in temper.

.

Image source
(Anticipation of the evening coolness by Nikolai Taidakov)

Edit: Linking it up with Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads

an evening reverie

 

erin-hanson-arizona-dusk-13

what I shall make out in green and concrete –
the milk of this evening has gone rancid
in its own boiling heat – white blossoms curled
into their wombs – colored winds in this play.
what I shall discern of you, in your want –
an iris dusk shedding silken-haired light,
hung at the mere hint of one last goodbye.

.

For dVerse MTB

Image source (Arizona Dusk by Erin Hanson)

this vulgar handiwork of time

 

the cigarette butt gets charred in his fist,
his belt sneaks out of a loop
penetrating the orifices of the wind.

she complains of the food not cooked well,
to hell with the homie, since the mad uncle of
KFC is so hypnotic, handing out lollipops,
but not to the random connoisseur sitting
at the roadside, muttering abuses of
disproportionate shapes and sizes.

where there is sanity, there are decapitated
fingers tapping on lurid screens, lapping to
the other side 5 kms away, 100 meters are
too desperate, after all.

who wouldn’t want to suck the lactating nipples
of this evening, and
bite into the rhetoric flesh of silence that
encloses this open-to-all soirée.

we are not indelible, nor are we buttressing unsaid
fetishes in our guts, so why bother about it,
shadows won’t question, lights would, but for that
we are left clinging to these lampooned lamp posts.

there is always another evening, let’s keep our end
of the bargain after all,
there is always another evening, let’s stay desolate
once more.

.
Linking it up with Poets United

amour

evening_a_24_inches_high_x_34_reproduction_oil_painting_68b57a6f

dear

oh Dear –
it’s an evening of amour,
experienced alone, behind the open
windows- a view for the world
abstaining from desire, I disrobe
the words, and let them ablaze
on
the tip
of
my tongue.

dear

oh Dear –
let’s flow, let’s blow, let’s sing,
let’s waltz around in our skins,

*तू स्पर्श है तो मैं एहसास,
लब से जो तू छू ले तो मैं विलाप,
तू पुष्प जो है तो मैं  भँवरा हूँ.

let’s flow, let’s blow, let’s sing,
let loose control.

in dots and dashes,
I sigh, my last word,
in dots and dashes.

dear

oh Dear –

*you are the touch, I am sensation,
you are the kiss, I am that moan,
you are the flower and I, a bumble-bee.

Image source

Linking it up with Poetry Pantry.

A Side Note: One of my favorite poets and bloggers, Oloriel Moonshadow, has recently published her poetry collection. Please check out her book here. It’ll be available on Amazon soon.