The lost pebble

There have been times
I have wished myself
A rounded smooth pebble
In the palms of beloved
Curio seeker
Safe harbor at last
From wash and wear
Of roughest ocean
And yet its touch
Has moulded
Me in gentleness.
My contours soft and undulating
dapples of demurely concealed
Distress
The stormy rants
Of rites of passage
And my initiation into
Living
While steadily drowning
Doggedly crowning the crests
Of incessant waves
Till bullied into submission
I was rolled like dice
Discarded upon the beach
Of bedlam
For a madman's moist caress.

Here and now
I must discard my oceanic lore
The store of wisdom
Incalculable
To sit upon a shelf
Forever forgotten
Grateful for oblivion's
Settled down.
Dusk sets
On my smooth
Aquamarine lights
Bathing in
Sober sherbets of pink
And cloudy reds
In the skylight of my
Narrow room
The last patch
Of freedom's blue
Fades
Black motifs
Of endless night
Will do for me
Now, nicely.

I await the eventuality
Of disintegration
Dust inspired
To dust returned.

(c)  Amrita Valan 2017

Second death

Before my second death
I befriended the beast
I needed to know
The first time
Was not in vain

I had cried
Saddest requiem
Checked my lipstick
In the mirror
Before filling my lipstick Case.

With all the pills my
Pain could hold.
To prove you wrong
And show
My heart of gold.

I only died
In my dreams
A bit.

I lived
To recant that tale
And weave my web
Again
Minus the intrigues
Of old coffers
Of ambitions
Bravely borne
Bold, so bright
Now bereft.

Before my second death
I cast a spell
To invoke my soul
Should artifice fail

No words can
Cast out shame
No confession can erase
The pain
Till admission
Becomes proof
To silent guilt.

I will survive.
I have auctioned
My emotions
To live to the hilt.
This threadbare life
My boldface game
Tears are curtains
When my face
Is limp and lame
Like my hair
A spider veil
If you stroke it
I may revive
Or lacerate your palms
Alms of undeserved
Benevolence.

Goodnight and goodbye
I have been too attached
To my prison
My orison
Your real world
Cannot match up
To the serious
Slade House
Of my sadistic soul.

Splitting atoms
Over hairline differences
I masticate
Molecules of my mortality.

Souls are slurry soups
Deliciously mortgaged
To infinite prospects
Of melancholy.

Meanwhile
Eternity's meanderings
Pass us by
Untouched and
Unmoved.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Witch's Cry

Witch's Cry

Amelie I am still here
Still waiting, my pretty dear
Out in this Brazen blizzard
Under this beautiful sky painting's
Midnight blue false ceiling
With wisps of white trimming
Wishful will o' the wisp wind
works it's wanton wanderings
Calls to thee my heart
Whispering my soul's secrecy
Here Amelie!
Hear me.

The graveyard shift
Churns my callow blood.
My goose pimpled skin
Is hung out like a shroud
Slicing this reality machine
That blinds ye.

Amelie.
You were my little girl.
The unborn baby
Macabre sacrifice.
You're my everything
Witchcraft in the wind
Spells too sacred
To tell.
You're the reason
I wield a wand.
My child.
Your carcass strung
Over the cauldron
As the coven
Made demand.
The covenant  was made.
Purest most holiest blood
Shed

I am now working all the mirrors
Of the universe.
And shattering crystals
That cry out
Baying bloodthirsty moons
You're not dead my child
While I live
My eyes agonized
Shards of bloodbath...

Amelie.
You're
Epitaph.
That marks the Tombstone
Of my soul.
I am not alive.
A witch lies encrypted
Between life and death
Love and hate
Bewitched.

Missing you
Kissing you
Messing with your hair
Thank you for the memories.

The haunting insight
Of humanity
Tendered
For sale.

Those are my roots
I swing alone
Between Nictitating
Night vision
And  Necromancer
Netherlands.

(c) Amrita Valan 2016

Slop Weekly Challenge Promises

Promises

Promises I never made to myself
Promises I forgot
In evening's remembrance
Promises are unkempt,
Tired and dirty
Quick and tardy,
Dumped in the parking lot.

I never heard the good news
Little waif untimely lost
The inner voices in my head
Raged Babel.
Myself I forgot.

To redeem, to reclaim
The name of the game
I forgot to make  promises
To honour
Payments never made
In pain.
The name of the Rose is Brazen
A vicious cipher eating out its tail.
Now heads up tails down
Pain,
Either which way
Its price unclaimed.

The price displayed on request
Requests that can't be made
So much for empty promises
Leave requiems for those undead.

I haven't taken the oath of life
I abdicated the vows
And accepted the snow-capped view
Of mock minarets
Shahid Minars of show.

The windows of life
Are narrowing down
The games changing
Or just winding down
But one harsh promise
I won't forsake.
Dead leaves of sweet decay
In Billowing time,
Winter buries its fangs
On my rusty rake...

I will
Grip every rose by its thorns
In my yearning nails
Tearing my palms
Till they are bled
Of all the sweetest sap
That I have left.

Promises wreath me
In mists of past mistakes
I wear my Fool's crown
My post dated quest
To glean insights from
these velvet petals
Till they shrivel me dead.

(Eat up the eternal dark
Till water of love and light
Herald of new life
Ever faithless
Under the sun awakes.)

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Forgotten

Have you shed tears for a love
That you were never given
Never allowed to feel
Or claim?
But that which was rote learnt
As something duty bound
And existent.
Without its reality being expressed?

To be told we're bound
We are one
Members of a family
A selfsame clan
To be a part
But never understood
Never acknowledged
One's person hood.

Is that love
Is that myth
I have a question.

And it pains me.
For unsheathing it
Would open up
Pandora's box.
All my troublesome love
Let me lock it up.

Throw away the key.
That's how we live.
We forget.
If we can't forgive.

(c) Amrita Valan 2016

Mooning away

Saddle up, my fine dream horse,
And take me a dancing tonight
The mood's  just right
The skeletal moon
screams white...
Take me back and faraway
to my unhurried unplugged
childhood days
My little girl world,
My mysterious island
Wherein I scrawled
My sweetest thoughts
In softest sand.

It's over and above
My frenzied eyes,
Tears streaming
I am watching a wisp
Of cloud clothe the
Nonchalant moon
And the winged shadow
Of a silent bird
Gliding like silk
Over the cryptic
tombs of Heaven.

The silence is dark and vast
The world is a dream yet to come
The moon shouts a single silver
Word, obscene or obscure,
Over and over again.

Take me back
Take me black
Into the night pitch.

Take me whole
Swallow me
Into the mystery.

Not a woman tonight, no
Clever girl no longer,
A simple homely waif
Am I.
Beloved of the elves.

And I want to rest
In my encrusted crypt.
The words are insufficient
Too crisp.
Too fresh.
While my insomniac thoughts fly
Erratic cryptic
Into complicit winds
Of change.

Never Mind.
I am not going to
Endure this polygamous state
This Duality of minds,
This betrayal is
Too beautiful to enact.

Never Mind.
I will put out on display
My trivial baubles
My brassy barnacles,
Withdrawing my distress.

No mind
No dream.
No address.

I live in Neverland.
On the cusp
Of moon song days.

(c) Amrita Valan 2016

The Way

My place is at your feet lord
When they mock
Even my identity
Till I doubt  my being,
Like they want me to.

Confusing soul shattering aimlessness
Invalidated, invaded
I become a tight wadded
Ball of pain adrift through
A tumbling universe.

I wander inside
Round and round
Succubus spin
Of black hole merry go round
Contracting carousel
Of my syncopated
carnival mind.

And I find my place
At your feet Lord.

I may have lost sight
Poise, purpose,
I may despise
My reasons for existence
But I find my place still,
At thy base,
And it exists,
In the sanctuary
The sanctum sanctorum
Not of church or temple
But in inner Holiest
Of Holies,
Secret  still Waters
Of my wayward mind.

What I have lost
I regain
In tears
In memories
In hurts
In acceptance
They remain birdsong
Susurrating, 
Soothing bewilderment.

Aches resonate
My tryst with such harsh friends
Is lifelong
They're the anchor
I place my trust in them
My smile, softest buoyancy
Bails me out of
Tempestuous waves.

Lord accept my trust.

My Truth.

My Life.

My Faith.

In myself.

You have created me
In your dream image.
The ideal of perfection
Made reality.
You have shown me
The Holy Grail.
The Grace
Of believing...

I am,
Myself,
The way...

(c) Amrita Valan 2016