ritual of words

layered blood-thick, brown-washed,
on the walls of my restive seclusion —

the elemental, egregious thoughts fight
against the other for more screen-time —

tea dregs & shunted ideas pass through
grey matter, spilling out cranial fluids
of creative flow —

acid, sweat, water — the dust of dread,
the diligence of death —

how the ritual of words is mired in
the affliction of being.

.

© Anmol Arora

Linking it up with The Tuesday Platform at WRT where I am hosting this week — I have proposed an optional challenge to write a poem in praise of one’s source of inspiration for the last day of the poetry month.
My #30Days30Poems can be found here.

Day 30
(Inter)National Poetry Month

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moon-less

“i am done with you,”

the moon said to the poets
and disappeared.

who will now take the shape/size/stigma
of a wiling metaphor,

for the face of the beloved,
for the lip-service of madness,
for the tongue-tied tears of memories,
for the handheld company of solitary souls,

gazing through a window-screen
at a moon-less sky?

.
© Anmol Arora

A 55-worded verse for Weekend Mini-Challenge: Strange News at WRT