“Do the numbers speak when they are spoken to?” The ceiling bellows at dawn: Somehow tenderly as the wilderness crumbles in deep slumber. She picks up the fingers of a deft mind and pirouettes with figurative art. Archaism- her old friend from the late-night bar across the street- Sips a pint next to her onContinue reading “Portraits of Disillusion”
Tag Archives: prose-poem
Things (un)said in a Glitch
Telephone rings Hello? (static) your voice is the old bottle of wine that burns down my throat and i bite the dust in my dreams till i wake up unhinged with the wine stains on my shirt spelling out your name Hel- my hydrangeas have all wilted and conflated with the mud that smears myContinue reading “Things (un)said in a Glitch”
Polarities
1. Distress A kaccha-house in the midst of a bustling row of slums; Reeking of rotten fish and the pungent scent of stagnating sewage water; A boy of age barely more that thirteen cowers in fear against the wall in the corner of his home; he’s a docile animal awaiting his slaughter; School-books passed onContinue reading “Polarities”
Vivian’s Vengeance
I was once a cannonball swerving past every soul to try and annihilate the one that I held dear. What was the point, one may ask? I don’t know. Maybe I feared the way she ignited the waning flame in me. The one that permeated the warmth of joy. The one that could thaw theContinue reading “Vivian’s Vengeance”
Lacerated Flesh and Heart
I will slither around your neck and gnaw at your flesh till I mutilate you. I will bore my squalid, viridescent canines into your heart and rip out every capillary till i efface the crimson hue. I love green. It’s a fatal mistake humans find solace in the colour. Green is venom. It will guzzleContinue reading “Lacerated Flesh and Heart”
Clandestine Propinquity
The tents we built with the kind of fervor and vehemence you see in robots Fell apart in the storm we inflicted. We were in fact robots, oblivious to our other halves who pined day and night for our fingers to fit perfectly between theirs. We were victims of a mondegreen. We misinterpreted our song’sContinue reading “Clandestine Propinquity”
Shamrock
Why does he sit alone in the park? He sits on the bench, head bent low till his nose touches his dingy, little black notebook as he seems to be reading something. What a strange, strange boy. Only in brief moments in time have I really had the chance to see his face. A fleetingContinue reading “Shamrock”
Swan's Labyrinth 