These days, possibly
I could stay awake all night
without lids open
without an outgrown mass for affection
staring into the raw rims of oval mouth- night shifters, I say.
A thing might be done during the afternoons
but generally nothing much happens in my house
all yellow- mahogany ruptured landscape
with tainted smiles to watch
monotony of colours, pigments and textures.
I have frowning faces all over
for spilled, spoiled milk (whatever you say)
A woman dragging her shadow in circles
counting till 50 backwards to go off to sanity,
nothing to stop her,
often, she skips if not running.
I can smell the salt all day.
Through the hanging stale night lamps,
a toothpaste now old and rusting
with beds cracking,
days pale like the birds bereft of water
brown as your memory
brown table, brown cinema and nothing wonderful.
Breakfasts are small,
small and wholesome.
Pinkish fruity nectar,
and no words.
The rose from my balcony is my muse
a snippet from a falling sky-
it reminds me of my field of stone,
air and blur.
Sunsets and smiles.
These days, possibly
I can imagine going off to sleep
with everything inside my clumsy fist.
Askew, I will wake and break.
A RED FANCY
Red washbasins under my tongue
a shiver on my knee,
red is the sky and red is you.
This time is a wound now,
red fluttering itch.
I see you in my transparent dreams-
made of paper hearts and porcelain art,
a red opaque mirror
holding a sniffle of barren mouth
a sniff and a snuggle-
how do you want this?
how much do you want it?
A red shadow.
a red bed for a growling moon.
Count the ways, now.
the red floors of mannequins dancing/ the nail bite/
Count the ways you want it again?
Close to the red door.
Close to immature death once again.
The red sky is empty again.
-Devika Mathur resides in India and is a published poet, writer, and editor. Her works have been published in The Alipore Post, Madras Courier, Modern Literature, Two Drops Of Ink, Dying Dahlia Review, Pif Magazine, Spillwords, Duane’s Poetree, Piker Press, Mojave heart review, Whisper and the Roar amongst others. She is the founder of the surreal poetry website “Olive skins” and writes for https://myvaliantsoulsblog.wordpress.com/ She recently published her book “Crimson Skins” and her five poems were also published in Sunday Mornings River anthology recently and has her works upcoming in two more fierce anthologies