Footprints
Like a swollen stigma
Cracking my skull
Tangling with knots in my stomach
I am a rugged moth
Floating in the mouth of lies,
Broken, silent
With a broken chip of nail
Stuck and fabricating my body
With hallucinations of dewy shadows.
Whom am I, if not a footprint?
All blurred and deformed.
Memories are just Memories
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For memories does not spark my romance with life
Nor do they slip through the curtains of moisture.
All these years, even when I was a teenager,
I watered the dying roses and Orchids
Flushing a spew of lightning and rock salt
People became a mystery to me, leaving me stained
Behind the sturdy brown doors, a knob-less door
And then began a veracious knitting
of words with emotions,
I popped millions of pills, smoked cigars
Innumerable open wounds made me ugly, they said so.
Placid openings spewed disgust, Torrents powerful.
So, memories clasp you, twist and give a sudden twitch
They furl and embrace your naked soul,
Immersed in the droplets of blood and ink.
Memories are nothing but floating crisp memories.
Bio: Devika Mathur
Devika Mathur is an emerging poetess from the country of love and culture, India.
Two Drops of Ink: The Literary Home for Collaborative Writing
Two Drop of Ink takes pride in providing a platform for emerging and widely published writers, poets, problem-solver for the writer and blogger, and memoirs that relate to the writer.
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These are beautiful. I especially like one about memories. You weave images…like the knob-less door. Powerful. Thank you so much for sharing.
Always a joy to read the works of this brilliant writer. Congratulations Devika!!
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