water

let-a-smile

his music trickled down my spine,

like water, it registered my thirst
for something new, for something

i forgot i could feel — in a circular
exhale of his smile, i smiled too, and
resting my feet, i waited for more.

.

© Anmol Arora 2018

Another one for Fussy Little Forms at With Real Toads. Cherita is a three-stanza poem, of one, two, and three lines respectively; it generally tells a story and was created by the UK poet and artist, ai li.
Image source (Let A Smile be Your Umbrella by davisbrotherlylove.com)

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a starry-eyed dalliance

visual-verse-october-2018

Image by 

silhouette — eyes draped
to forget the view of
that touch,

stars wave their flesh,
hang together in
an unreliable
reminiscence,

of what it was, in its night-
time sagacity —

the landmark of my body
rose and fell, began, so to come
to an end,

every breath became star-dust,
haloed in the light of its own
remembrance —

can i be trusted with the s-shaped
curves of that juncture?—

a rendezvous
of halved lusts – biting, igniting,
believing – of a brazen luck,
or a chance companionship
or a calcifying causality
of a lost need for love —

broken beds, filigreed facts,
in the topsy-turvy, much-forgotten
tremors of a memory,

with hidden traces of what remained
and has to be returned.

.

© Anmol Arora 2018

Originally written for and featured on Visual Verse. Linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads.

***
Now that I am back in the thick of things, I am thinking of reviving the old concept of Guest Post here. So, this is an invitation to anyone out there willing to share their words, prose, poetry, rambling, ideas, crafts, arts, publications, et al. to use this space for sharing and promoting their personal/professional work. I have a very humble readership (in quantitative terms, despite the rather larger figure of the total number of followers) but I am sure that the ones who read and visit me will love to hear from you. If interested, you can write to me (with a short pitch for the guest post) at hamusesanewtune@gmail.com or on my Instagram. To get an idea of what has been done before, visit this section called Guest Post (the scope can vary from Oloriel’s poem with the story and inspiration behind her piece to Jen’s short lesson on the World of WordPress and blogging etiquette).

death of a kiss

the_dark_kiss_by_eitherangel
unearthed trinkets of lust
taken by my lips —
bitten —

bitumen of the roads left
behind —

quick-quirky-beats rise quickly
like moon-quivering-tides.

drink one on me, through me,

as i

taste the memory of your
kitschy kiss,
hear a silver sun’s silence,
left undisturbed,

ululating — dying.

.
© Anmol Arora 2018

For dVerse Quadrille # 64
Image source (An interesting reproduction and interpretation of Klimt’s The Kiss)

***
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.

moving on

 

1916870-elefxdli-7
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.

of lovely things

brooke_david_05
rise and flow, reach out and billow —
the caress of star-bedecked cheeks, of
coffee-skins resplendent with flavors
of earth, slings, of two-days old sweat,

encounter the mirth of every golden
brow – never else would be any but
for a poem lovely as a full-throated
ease of a desire – the divine delights

of souls quivering to the lip-service
of lust, one-two-inches deep – glassy
wounds – eager, ephemeral feelings
rising, flowing, deluging, dazzling –

.

Image source: Getting Rid of My Desire by Brooke David

For With Real Toads’ Micro Poetry

Instagram, Facebook, Gmail

RIP, Queen of Soul

dear, you…

back there, lights must have dimmed
to sorrow  –
have you, too?
~
dear, you…

i am okay  – all is as blue as it can be
quenching the brown of my eyes,

i love the red-white lighthouse,
bereft of tourists, amid the green,
i come here often
to find the pain of my solace,
of one kind  – the other kind
is left with you  –

sweet salt fumes linger on my lips,
the sea looks deep like loss, grains
of sand end up everywhere, like
the thought of you,

i am holding reins over
the beach or i will drown,
and building castles, and collecting
conch shells, and stark-white pebbles,

i will gather some for you, too.

 

.

For With Real Toads’ At the Seaside Challenge. The last sea I encountered was ruined by the urban mess of a metropolitan. That is not what I wrote about.
I instead remember the seas of Port Blair (2013) as I go about it – I went up that lighthouse on an island nearby only once and still, it left an impression on me. I was on my own, but for the blue expanse ahead and the green on all other sides.  The poem is fictional but that memory stirs these emotions in me – the palate of my thoughts turn to blue, grey and blood. Otherwise, I have no recollection of having written a postcard or a letter of this kind. What I had to write stayed within, brown and forlorn like my skin, not turned into the coherency of lines. If it were, it would have been something like this. And as fiction goes, it is never completely so. *winks*

*Also linking it up with Poetry Pantry at PU.

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