100 poems/52 weeks challenge’ 2018

Photographed by Tim Walker

on spinning wheels
and the factory of smiles,
half-a-doll of infatuation
half-a-doll of love,
oh perhaps, of Bovarian dreams.

I would have absolutely despised writing on
but ordinary things contain cosmic affairs,
and now my heart,
is merely a misspelled smile.

A gentleman sitting on the stairs
kind eyes,
the wind rattling behind the palace gate
that surrounds his soldier-shoulders,
kind eyes.

I say,
do fall upon “looks”,
for you can read
eyes, brows, and tips of woolen hair falling over the forehead,
and not
the words that often betray the book.




Painting by Salvador Dali

In the stretch of time
I await, shivering
Let it pass
Without injury
Into the other side of
Blood-let sorrow stream.
We’re Soulmates: Not a single body knows.

You look at me
And I look at me
I am sour when bitten
Dug at
Sharply, with garden roses.

Like an egg
Every fucking day
Building inside me.
My womb is yet weak
To push you out into the world,
Like a balloon
Filled with the knife-cut trains
That smother my heart

Out of my dungeon you go
Above my system
In the eyes of God,
You leave
To let me sow myself in my own soil
And germinate at once,
Like garden roses.

I bloom. I shed. I bloom.


[The above picture was my prompt.]

I am a missionary on a wavering mission

And I like the way you tie back your hair

As they slither in the storm,

Upon my own,

thirsty pale throat.

I would be a liar if  I said

Love is on my mind

For It would crash the moment

I would cross your, sorry threshold,

Leaving my mind

but to the,

merciful devil.


Author notes

Sort of forbidden love thing. Or you can say- Complicated.

© Priyanka, All rights reserved.