DEVIKA MATHUR - POEMS
Devika Mathur resides in India and is a published poet, writer. Her work has been published in Madras Courier, Dying Dahlia Review, Pif Magazine, Spillwords, Duane's Poetree, Piker Press, Mojave heart review, Whisper and the Roar amongst various others. She is currently working on her book "Crimson Skins" due this year. She is also the founder of surreal poetry website "Olive skins" and writes for https://myvaliantsoulsblog.wordpress.com/
Behind the lens
There is nothing that I would want from the sky.
Neither from your shirt's button
Or from your cheeks glitter.
I want things in a minimalist way,
with a bowl of souvenirs dancing around my waist.
With a hint of hiccups & stars
Always beside my pillowcase,
A soft lullaby of my mother's turmeric hands,
A sigh so soft this time.
I want details to be normal.
Perfection kills the sorbet of life.
A barren land full of moths& weeds,
for every creatures swivel a smile.
A jar of dreams,
Pink/ blue / red coloured visions of poetry,
An array of chemicals gushing
across my collarbone,
to be a scent of petunia always.
Life gulps the despair again & again.
A palm always speaking of trivial yet beautiful things.
Chop chop chop,
A lemon is cut into two halves.
"But you did not trust me mother"
Tara could feel her warm hands going winter kiss.
"You did not listen mother"
You kept on performing your tiny rituals,
Walking barefoot around,
With mahogany table spread, knitting a brown rusty cardigan,
You did not listen of pills
Of him &me.
Mother, you hung my photos at the the back of your hand,
behind you sagging lines …
I defied time for your grace,
To make you mine always..
"But you did not listen mother"..
You slipped anyway.
Of a spotless dream
Levitating in the air.
Across my mind of burning galaxy.
of my limbs hovering in shadows
It has not seen face of glow,
An eternal strand of light
I want to swim & run now
No human, no words.
A bulging, opulent transparent lip of nothingness around.
On the surface of the sheet,
the song of the mountains.
A slippery slick poem of the God.
A parallel plastic skin of night.