I sit quietly,
observing the silent curves of this Plumeria,
a life extending like an infant.

No lament today,
only the surreal fire of this body,
listening to the hanging exhilaration.

As if, it digests the broken star
running across its face of thawed bone.
It shifts its mouth
to a better pathway.

It has a space to collect water,
to extend a chin of its part
biting this orange earth sipping sunlight.

This flower disobeys my myth
in small portions for me to eat.
There is a half – eaten Poetry
that I saw today,
hidden in the soft folds of life.

I think of keeping it’s lesson
running wild
soft as a summer grass
on my productive legs today.

Like this post? View similar content here: My War Paint is Ink

by my.valiant.soul

A published poet from India, and a constant seeker for the real truth. My works have been previously published in Visual Verse, Subterranean Blue Poetry, Mad Swirl, Spill words among various others. I write about mental health and my favorite activities include dancing, reading poetries, living between the nature.


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