mayday_calls

my name in the fire  altar is their seventh benefit, my imprint, that too, in the grey list is their sixth benefit, my heat ready to fuel  solar flares is their fifth benefit, my relics to exemplify the religious roar is their fourth benefit, my wax mineralising the  town's light is their third benefit, my pulse stifling some  barking echoes is their second benefit, but if i am the first one , what are the benefits? - chetna 🌻 

this yellow is shredding  its sunlit shine and stones, this time is shrinking  its ability to digest formality, this liquor is sparkling  its distress in the light of grief, this circus is sprinkling  its weight of irrelevant sphere,  the god is blessing chemicals  on my tiny pores of dull skin, the god is sitting on your  eye lashes to taste the salt, the god is obsessed with the  blood of lips when you bite so hard, i think, the god is falling out of  the story he had begun to write, never mind, my words are still  lighter than your aching heart, your moons and magnitudes are stumbling over my last energies, let the god take the test of  our theism till time wants, let the god check the steer  of my pores and your blood, but the fault lies  in the grace of torture  this trembled truth carries, in the delicacy of statue  this physical heat adored  us when we didn't ask for it, where does the fault lie? i'm ...

this litany of  the unchosen fate, the unkindled face, the unholy faith, is the unreal destiny, this fantasy of  the indecisive trap, the invisible trait, the insincere trade, is the insane ecstasy, this fallacy of  the dishonest poetry, the disagreed penalty, the disordered prophecy, is the dismantled legacy. - chetna 🌻 

a life , so big then, but so small now, smaller than the  vacuum of my fist, but we could not  hold you,  please forgive us , we will preserve you  till all the next lives, please stay with us. i write for the pyre, for the ashes, for the  weathered, for the dead, but never about the  force of the universe  which overpowered  our will to keep you with us more please forgive us. what's gone is  gone forever, what's slipped  out of the grip  is slipped forever, what's written in  the manuscript  of nature is  written forever, but why did gods and  goddesses of life need you to justify this law of mortality ? did we fail to pray and conserve you  or did they learn  about your generosity  way earlier than us? please forgive us. thanks for marrying  our mother , thanks for the vows  you made and paid  off until you died,  thanks for the roof under which you  built a homely world...

i think, i have prayed  only to love you, will ever conspire  to be with you,  even without you, my eyes recognize  only shadows of you, orphaned, wanting to  be fostered by you, under the new or  blue or full moon, as i prayed for you. i think  i have prayed  only to fall for you, will ever dive in energies of you, if i get a piece  or full body of you, my eyes recognize  only two sinless  survivors to be  cradled by the silence  carved by me and you, as i prayed for you. i think, i have prayed  only desire for you, will ever choose  to sublet my roof, be colonized by you, my eyes recognize  only the atomicity  of my life and you,  to begin again with you, drowned in floods  still sanctifying you, as i prayed for you. yes i prayed right  for you, to worship you. - chetna 🌻 

we have thrived  our different pains in  different backgrounds, you kneel down  to warm cold ashes  of your regret  i am glaring at your buoyant eyes but frozen in wounds,       "once your green         and my blue veins         blended in our skins         to colour us sanguine," now pieces of stones  block the conduit  of my blood flow, our suns of old spring  sent clouds down to the earth to soak our  slate hearts in the need for bright skies  but i am standing fragile  on the horizon our  suns can no longer know, my prayers can never rise above my own  grief like bricks held tight in cements, you were the only  to de-calcify the  unsaid and unheard  mounts of laments, you're still sitting on knees , i'm not yet done carving my  gloom in your eyes.  - chetna 🌻 

bone-cold and damp  or hot and dry  should be the road  to my home ? fresh and floral or clenched and closed should be the door if you anyhow reach the home? my eyes are routes, my cheeks are home  if you could ever turn  this grey back to yellow. i keep no curtains  as my windows had always been closed, you once cut the bone, rinsed my skullless  soul and held me close, but now i'm lingering  to have you only in prose, your this lost right  would be restored, our dancing feet would feel the cold floor if you could ever turn  this grey back to yellow. stop knocking at the  door, do not fuel my  fantasies anymore, i want to press my breaths too through the peephole, but no, please start  marching back to the town  where you came from ,  the spirit of the spring  is washed down in the doldrums and downpours, your spilled secret of  the Sun and my darkened star would meet again if you could ever turn ...

The Ganges and  Euphrates rolled down  from her eyes when my ribs opened  for a life, this bravest blood  never dies even  in time and tides, this blood nurtured  my cells , bones , marrow and skins, a call to the Goddess  of power if you ever  bless me lenses to  see this blood ? I know you won't ! so, please  incubate me once  again or throw me  in the gulf , wash me in that  blood or hand over  this hollow cast to the fate of oceans,  high spirits may  reach me tomorrow, but not her strong  amber of prayer, winds of heart may  throb faster tomorrow, but not that altruism  she gifted to my life, once again , a plea to the Goddess of  the birth and the death,  please tell the sky and  the earth to stay alike, tell her blood to warn  my boiling blood every time, "land pays your debt when you fly high  in the sky ."  - chetna 🌻 

these surfaces had no empathy for cocoons, winds will erode   core-stones too soon, thank god, i was building a  home on Neptune. patience can never stay porous for long, the lady who checks the sundial turned to brune,  thank god, i was building a  home on Neptune. rivulets rugged their feet , jumped into holes, salts of the oceans were fed with the spoon, thank god, i was building a  home on Neptune. cursed were the carnal desires for truth, cursed was the  celibacy of the moon, thank god, i was building a  home on Neptune. - chetna 🌻 

not every spring can  save you from sadness, not every March can  adore you an escape to his arms, "clear the history  of the hourglass i spent  counting quartz sand  granules in the hope  to shift the dynamics of  our suns and earths, clear if you can , i can not ! " "you believed me  every time when  i barked up the wrong tree, but you could not  believe my tiniest cell when i was burning in steams , what a mystery, babes! " "my love looks like an  undervalued currency, drowning in the debt of  promises spilled from  your mouth to bend for my innocence even  more than my face!"  not every spring can  shatter your source of sickness,  not every March can  turn you to his favourite child . - chetna 🌻