mayday_calls

did i watch it happen   or few mammals in closets, did i walk on your streets  or construct new lockups?  priesthood turned in, tore volumes of past, i can hear this narcissism  "you've to break your fast," soils never need to  forget to forgive at last, seeds spurt out alone but can you harvest such mass? brooms or contracts, street cleaning sophists, consensus or charges, does your senses only work while on drugs,  answer, dear fascists?  one day, i swear i will  line up to bulldoze your churches and the court, i might sleep on flowers but i am not a scapegoat.  - chetna 🌻 

i just bounced myself  back from putting my fingers on edges, i am hardly held tight on the  shafts of wind turbines, revolving likewise the  inner child in me is  watching her own  cycle of crisis of life, i just bounced myself  back from joyriding  down and jumping off  the height, i am such an  ant rotating in turmoil,  now i can't justify why  i used to draw circles at  the age of nine before i  had been linearly aligned, i just bounced myself  back from holding my  girlhood to be graved in grids of graphite, i am such a girl too honest to be hidden  in curves of my mind, still gyring in bridewells  carving my marginal life. - chetna 🌻 

surrounded all around  by sterile stars, but  i do not even try to reach and bask in  such gilded shine,  fuck them, i've my own design, i have never felt so alone yet alive, "where's my life?" was it just sex or  power fuelling my breaths to set my own home on fire? he says, "i am his  only earth in his space" but i doubt my past religions and insights, i might be his life but "where's my life?"  all the other girls  i called Cinderella  are married and  living in beehives, it's hard to chase routes on which  cowards dragged  their bodies into  shame with pride, rolling over thorns  deflating my swollen  diaphragm up and down, "where's my life?" and one day, my husband will  fuck me thrice  just in one night, bittersweet cherry  red marks over my  breasts, leaking white  syrups down there,  on the altar of our bed, he'll show me heavens, but i will ask him, "where's my life?" - chet...

my wrist was the  place where some  scorpion bit and bred its home, as if this slum had sensed how to sit still in sins and salts, they all can trace  the shape of heart it carved while sipping  my burning red serum, well, i too skipped even  my beautiful beats of life but i was straining  pain out of this force, the scorpion finally rested its soul, but beneath my slowly  shattered shells, no one could know for whom to mourn, because they all can  never ever endure, i was that poison's perennial source. - chetna 🌻 

who counts for my  victories at the town square when i have   labelled every loss in secret just to  silence the crowd? but was i allowed? i am losing almost every shade of the canvas, which they  call the threshold  colour of ground ? but was i allowed?  my autumns burned  their umber children  and lost the beacon  of drizzling lakes  and snowflakes, is it called profound? but was i allowed?  should i feel just proud? what if i am not allowed ? - chetna 🌻 

their fucking bodies  of one mouth, ten eyes, hundred brains plotting, but i won't trap my skull in mud again to find their meaning, some man wishes to use my hips to  caramelize his dick and die fantasizing, but i won't clap, cry and cope again when  talking to the ceiling, bereft reasons left with my bare senses, so they call termites to carve me all from within, but i won't turn my  visceral words again to leave me bleeding, "you're so loud, way louder than so-called  pain, such synchronised  shame you aim!" but i won't call out  my raw and rough  rhymes again to undo the phases of my healing, theories based on the hard stones, but yielding stories inked into the warm room, but i won't crush the soil, force my divine  again when the world prays to get me kneeling, - chetna 🌻 

white pigeons in my ash-laden fossilized sky, i tied a post to their  legs, carrying my  coarse-outsourced love, my dear favourite boy, keeping my fingers  on count, throwing my  poems to a foolish  crowd, layers unleashing  my impatience to tell  you, "you are my hero, i want your sky to  meet my ground" white pigeons  flapping in your tuscan red sky,  i endured too much  agony to realise  "it's their sky too, and you don't need every spectrum just because i like turning  all my filth to blue " i wish they'd just stay away from your reach, in a safer sunlit sky, you'd better sleep under the full moon without  my cold, paroled, coarse-forced love, my dear favourite boy. - chetna 🌻 

"i am growing water  hyacinths of your garden  on my blanched cheeks,  and some small salty  springs somehow  drain their rotten roots, the skin of my cheek renounced its chance  to smile till lifetimes, as it's you or these  flowers either way, you're still close and  condensed on my flesh,  the veins of every petal  of hyacinths touch my face, like your fingertips,  i am blessed, you left me  with similar shade like you,  ever thriving on me, like i once pictured for you, " - yours forgotten flower - chetna 🌻 

this sheer existence of snakes in my lawn, my willful obedience to drink their poison, one bit my flesh, other roped my hand, a third climbed up  to trench my throat, but my heart was too far, to nozzle me off, i knew ions of my  blood are still holding  venoms of the past, filtered in the dark, they now push, erode and rupture my veins, spaces under my  skins are colouring themselves cobalt, i gasp before praying  to the lord, if he can ever signal you ,  in the blink of an eye, in the hope of light, to reap and revive the dried capillaries  of my life, just by  your breath, "will you flood the rifts  of my ribs just by  your breath?"  - chetna 🌻 

i was slowly becoming  a plant for the fallow  manchild like you, so the words i said in  the heat to unwind you now look calculated, so the claps i adored you turned performative, all my fingers climbed  upto my cheeks, not in  the fear of one day  losing you, but for the face i carried while  serving you, 'cause  i thought you would  never ever paint me blue, your disguised cruelty, or maybe my dead mentality  loving you so hard, i was  just switching personalities, once an iceberg, never  chose to be the river again, i fuelled your empty brain  with my fucking generosity, i am done now to get  everything undone now, the girl of your dreams is still discolouring herself  to one day meet the sun, the boy of her dreams she  once prayed you were is  still tarnishing her heart, i was slowly becoming an oasis in the deserted  manchild like you, so the benefits you had by forcing me to become  a m...