Grief- Published in Spillwords Press

Thanks to Ms. Dagmara K., EIC of Spillwords Press to accept my poetry and publish in the same.

Grief is waterlike
A lachrymose vessel that drips,
a waterfall.

It gradually slips off your skin,
ascends in the form of a single wave of thought
and flows unto your chest.

Continue to read Grief by Shreya Sharma

Love,

Shreya 💜

During Nights

There is a certain apricity in the way you speak

of labelled trophies and dark fields,

the battles you win and the nights

you surrender your head to darkness.

The muffled silences,

the melancholy on the walls, in the air,

resting on the windowsill.

The dust surely knows how to stay

and listen quietly as long as you want it to be.

While the Earth decides to revolve around the sun,

a scintillating fire glows in your heart.

A listless curvature of anxiety balling up

racing fast, mountains cracking, volcanoes erupting.

The moon is a witness to your riveting thoughts.

During nights,

Faces are nothing but shadows of mannequins,

Departed silhouettes.

-SHREYA

Shades of Despair

Engulfed in the linen sheets of misery
Parched heart and doleful thoughts
My heart survives million shades of despair.
Layers of melancholy embedded in my chest
like the roots of trunk in soil.
The lone grief spirals in my nightmares,
as lone as a windowsill.

I yearn for the luminosity in my Kohl eyes
A wind, long gone and long-lost.
The mornings sing tunes of lemon infused melody,
songs of starlings and hymns of God.
While the nights are dreadful.
The tossing and twitching,
The process of integrating nerves and disintegrating false hopes.
The awful roars brims up my sparse brain to and fro.

-SHREYA

A living ache

My sister leaves my place
with a whiff of subtle memories.
Her spatial countenance, like face of a new bud,
blooming petals and uncut diamonds.
My savior in dark alleys and haunted houses,
Lone deserts and amazon forests.
Sister, save me today
for you share my blood.
I can’t move. My heart denies to beat. My limbs refuse to shift.
This body is now a sea of gothic waves.
Zillions of parallel waves colliding in this vaporized structure of bones and flesh.
A living ache yearns to hail inside my empty belly,
never decaying.
Shield me,
Protect me!
I am this voluptuous anger today.
I am the endless storm,
birthing a vast sea of gothic waves,
and the tides not under the control of moon.
A cyclone of three-dimensional anxiety encircles my heart.

-SHREYA SHARMA

Untitled

They call my love as a stubborn scar,
A wardrobe of photographs and roses.
A milky spot on the silver of moon,
An orb of sharp paper cuts and frozen dew.

They call my love as a stubborn scar;
A summer of longing,
An autumn of swimming in the ocean,
And staying afloat and shedding skin like air
A winter of anticipation for warmth.

Sometimes I slip across the steering ship of my  volatile journey.
I chose to take the helm of my life –
As a wheel to a vintage carriage
A horse to a traveller
A scintillating arrow to bow.

-SHREYA

Prompts by @living_through_lines & @myscreamingtwenties hosted on IG.

Crimson Skins by Devika Mathur- Book Review

Crimson Skins is an astounding and aesthetically beautiful poetry collection written by Devika Mathur. I have known her through primarily WordPress, myvaliantsoul and Instagram where she shares her poetry and prose. Published in many journals and literary magazines, Devika surprises us again with Crimson Skins which entirely emanates her writing styles- surreal, raw, powerful and pleasing. She writes Crimson Skins in five parts: Isolation, Detachment, Delirium, Attachment and Revival.

She writes as if she hums a lullaby. With lines as

“our lotus bodies sinking like air”,

” You kissed me like a newborn baby’s skin”,

“anxiety turns a woman into a liquid flower,
again, I am an organ supporting my other organ, all alone”,

she proves she has a penchant for words and metaphors. She hits such right chords at the right time leaving the readers stunned repeatedly.

In section ‘Delirium’, Devika infuses indecipherable imagery in her poetic pieces; fearless and courageous, it seems while reading, the words are her weapon as well as a relief. With pieces like ‘The Sunrise’, ‘Shape-shifter’, ‘Madness’, she portrays an amalgamation of light and dark, the sanity and madness and what not. She writes,


“This body is now a temple,
I give birth to seasons now.
I speak and something bizarre happens.
I wander and a leaf detached itself to fly.”

Her poetry reflects truth in moments. She makes you feel the heaviness in air and emotions. Her words may hit you at times like a bullet and soothe you the other times. On the other hand, she writes sensual and pieces like ‘Talks with night’, ‘To You, Darling’ where you will find yourself afloat in her words.

The mention of mother in few pieces such  as  ‘Insanity clicks’ & ‘Mother, I see you’ makes her poetry intense and sentimental.

Devika has an impeccable sense of imagery which she proves throughout all the sections. The perk of reading her book is the few pieces were open for multiple interpretations to me. The book ends with the Revival section comprising of many rejuvenating pieces. I recommend readers who are looking to read lifelike moments blended with wild and powerful imagery, and subtle at the same moment.

My ratings: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

You can buy her book on Amazon, and Bookswagon.

Amazon India

Amazon US

a letter from the sea, to the sea

a letter from the sea, to the sea
the elements it carries:
a bunch of skeleton seashells, the sudden surge of blue waves
waves carrying my scarlet wishes, undone
yearning to reach the sunkissed island
the mellifluous harmonies on the way
waves that wipe my feet and denies to leave like a passionate lover
waves that meet a child’s paper boats
and beholds sacred rituals of my mother
waves that narrate tales, half written and unfinished
waves, a witness to the corpses in disaster

a letter from the sea, to the sea
a silent whisper
a quiet watch
an observer
of all the transitions from life to death

-SHREYA

Layers of Longing

My beating heart is a drum
a thunderous rhythm
reciting an epistle of my grief.
A concoction of
     togetherness & separation.

There are layers of longing;
   of being seen
   and seeing
   of a single touch
   and being touched
   of love
   and being loved.

I swallow nights in counting kisses-
and envelope the remnants,
sitting as wildflowers on my waist. 
A site to behold,
for million nights.
A star to make a wish for eternity,
A church to worship.

-SHREYA

Plants- Calm Down Magazine

Originally published in Calm Down Magazine

The plants reflect the green colored vigor
roots evenly stretched like the diffusion of mint fragrance across the lawn.

We frequently converse
about the sky that proudly stands up across the horizon
and the earth that holds all of us,
and we talk surprisingly about the universe,
that holds the sun, moon and stars.
Mercury too hot to dissolve,
and the moon too cold to breathe.

There is a plant situated at the corner.
As I approach it,
It starts dancing to its tune,
whirls and smiles gently.
I join shyly to its symphony,
I am too shy.

As the blackness of night approaches around all of them,
I hear them whispering to each other;
their secrets and idiosyncrasies.
They calls themselves by names.
More than chlorophyll, more than their green.
I acknowledge a vivacious garden settling to its heartbeats.

-SHREYA

You and I

I safekeep your effervescent laughs in my heart
the laughs that scatter rain in deserts,
and bring mirth in blank space.
You resemble a dateless blooming flower-
Calla lilies, the petals diffuse in the blood of your heart.
There is a sheet of optimism in your glazing eyes,
and I breathe on these hopes residing in the reflection of your eyes.
I live in it. I dream of it.
You hold my hands,
and I feel a silk touch so gentle and affectionate.
Your touch epitomizes summer lakes,
and winter snowfalls. And I am dwelling on these mellow touches.

It was Café de Corsica we met for the first time
You were engrossed in reading your classic and swallowing your favorite parts and characters.
Coincidentally we wore the same colored crop tops, the color of peaches.
And we smiled looking at each other,
Serendipity they say.

You were a recurring dream to me then,
turned to be a reality now.
And I am enthralled with the felicity.
You and I,
different shades of same color,
galactic stars of a constellation,
and a couple of clouds floating in togetherness.

-SHREYA

Instagram: @sharmashreya020

Love 💚