Devyani Saini's Blog

After some deliberation and thought I have decided to transfer my content to a new website, powered by Wix.com

They’re whole system is so much easier to use and produces a beautiful, professional, and dynamic website. To all my wordpress followers, thanks for your love and interest. I hope you’ll understand and maybe follow me as I make this change. My new website can be found here:

http://www.devyanisaini.com

You can subscribe for updates to my new blog as well – which I will be updating more frequently. This website will be up until my official domain is purchased and activated.

GOOD BYE WORDPRESS! THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING!!!

All those voices, whispering, murmuring,

Screaming, silent.

Their words have no weight

Until spoken,

Until given shape,

Until they sear themselves into the air,

Until there is someone else’s ear,

Listening.

The unspoken word does not exist

Outside your mind’s cage.

Let it be released.

Let it rage.

The passage of time is

The rise and fall of moist, warm bodies

An eight legged chimera

Wet and heaving.

The flow pulsating of inanimate

Heaps of rumples sheets,

The floor is a lake of starless night

On which we precariously gloat.

I have no hands anymore.

They are a painting ruined by rain,

And artist, enraged, draws

Ten in the place of one.

There is a woman brought out of the sea

Soft bluish skin, a mermaid

Asleep, smiling in the darkness.

Bag of bones.

Wraiths swim in front of a void of

Sucking blackness

Destroying all light, heat, life.

It passes.

Our fused bodies

Are at once a hibernating beast

That blooms into a flower

Each petal varcing it’s own path in the night air.

The first phantom

Is twenty white faces in broken glass

An eye where a nose should be

Four mouths fighting to be seen

The second phantom

A face of black silk melted onto marble

Horned like the devil yet silent,

Like a regal Fury.

And what I behold before the great void

A tragedy written in a living mural,

The face of the white phantom bursts

Into a silver phoenix,

Ebony peacock feathers explode from

The Fury’s neck like a crown.

Claws, wings, teeth

Surging and pushing against some

Invisible barrier of liquid smoke.

Their grotesque mouths move yet the sound

Is of muted mourning screams.

A silent longing

Unheard by my mortal ears.

A singular desire to erase

Each self,

And fuse into an almighty being.

I covet your hands.

They will let

Water, sand, and someone else’s love

Slip through tiny gaps between

Trembling fingers,

Yet they will never let go

Of the memory

Of what you touched.

Of who you touched.

Trafalgar Square at 3 am waiting for a bus home

Wearing a jacket too big for me

Strangely enough the collar still smells like you

Of your trust

It’s easier to pretend it’s not the sleeves

But the ghost of your arms that are shielding me from

The midnight breeze

When the bus comes

I feel a little warmer

Every time I say your name

Flowers bloom in my lungs

Invisible fingers curl around my spine

Butterfly wings beat hurricanes in my

stomach.

The pressure is so strong

You could shove your hand down my

throat and

Pull out diamonds.

My name in my language

Rolls off the tongue like liquid silk

Music on the ridges of the palette.

But in your language it’s the

Violent scraping of teeth

All wrong and aggressive.

Isn’t it strange;

I only ever love my name

When you say it.

You’re not a fire

That burns bright for an instant

Only to be snuffed out by time.

You’re a flood.

And God how I want to float in your waters

And drink the life that pours out of your mouth till I too

Become a flood

And sink the world in life.

Something as self-contained

As a storm in a teacup

Remains in equilibrium

So long as no one

Asks for a cup of tea.