In marked territory
When my inkless isles
become drenched
with icy wintergreen embers
of apologetic auroras ~
and l i f e loses its lyrics in lilith's labyrinth,
this soul orchestrating in origami riddles
unfurls a cerise sanctuary ~
where the calligraphic signatures of serenity,
no longer lurk in my hand-sketched alphabets...
Hunted by l i g h t
and sheltered by demons,
can a strawberry sapling
blossom into a bioluminescent beacon,
bleached by beliefs ~
along barnacles that hide cardamom clusters
in the canopy of confused clairvoyance?
Why do I feel paralysed as those spectral lilies,
shapeshifting in solemn shark songs,
when the sorceress in me
should have been paragliding with p a i n,
within a parachute of pearls,
perfumed with sun-dappled patience~
above thistle-stitched sigh of skin-thin pines...?
If sadness were a spirit ~
she would be exhaling a galaxy of roses
from her s o f t, blood-swirling lungs,
emanating metaphors, misinterpreted by fate...
I still ponder, if the fangs of goblin-verses
have gnawed upon my ginger-glazed horizons~
as the twinkling veil between faith and foe
has been stained with satanic swan-tears...
and I remain untouched, somewhere ~
like a scent lingering in buds of skeletal silence,
surfing me away, from my malevolent muse...
"O' deities of life,
who breathed me as a secret,
I'm a massacre of poetry,
my lily wings laid bare ~
I wouldn't pray to vanish from the womb,
which cradled me
in wrinkled rainbow croons ~
but maybe, if the rotten roots
of repenting fate
could be reincarnated
as a kintsugi pantoum,
I'd reverse those
wisteria waves of seconds,
that surfed my
fickle footprints offshore ~
to remorseful realms
without ripened rispettos...
sometimes,
I wish that I had never swallowed
any vindictive wanderlust
of the first sunshine
which fell upon my infant star ~
for, suffocating in sins
of the seven seas,
I have become a grave
for swarovski dahlias,
ruffled across
lethal jasmine-soaked sunsets..."
from the drizzling flames of fury
Belladonna butterflies b u r s t ~
as feral rose filaments grieve in celtic roars,
upon ivory pedestal of nightshade champagnes
where, I'm a daughter of the snake moon ~
my scales shimmering in tea-lime territories
marked with venomous emerald-golds,
which define the thunderous tunes of Bronte,
as lightning streaks of cyanide c r a s h
against the mosaic chariot of Zeus...
Copyright © Hiya Sharma | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment