kabhi-kavi

[kabhi-kavi]

Spotted this in a target and keep forgetting to show it

#hozier #unreal unearth

[kabhi-kavi]

#lurker who sometimes writes n forgets to post some of that shit

[kabhi-kavi]

Advice for Young Writers

You must write today— and tomorrow, too. Ink-stained palms on shaking hands,  paper the colour of honeydew.   Young writer—     create a bulk of work,    that you can be proud of.  Write the way that flowers dance—    the way orchids, & foxgloves bloom. Understand the nature within each  beating pulse.  & Understand the movement, feathered    in life by default. Yr time is short, always short,  & a perfect moment will never come.  Instead, begin—recklessly—    with words louder than kettle drums. Poetry is never quite finished,  only abandoned—  like cherry-bruised ends. So never attempt to count yr hours—  & instead, use them.  

[kabhi-kavi]

something holy inside you wants to get out but you can’t let it

[kabhi-kavi]

Yesterday, by the sea, I saw you in the fog the water smoked, Icarus of Crete, Icarus who flew, Icarus who fell. Tell me Icarus, Was it worth this, you touching the sun ? Was it worth you becoming a myth, A cautionary tale ? Your father Daedalus who was a murderer who was an inventor who was a genius who was a wild bird free who loved You, gave you the Keys; And Icarus with your wax-wings and your mind-full-of-dreams flew up high, flew away free, Bird born in cage, caged bird Free- But young bird, did you know ? Oh Icarus of the Labyrinth, did you know (Apollo loved free birds, wild kids Apollo loved and his lovers died Apollo loved and his lovers were eternised  did you know, Icarus, did you know ?) Waterlogged birds are drowned birds And, oh Icarus of the Sky! Your feathers in wax-wings, unwaxed were they White feathers that drowned- Icarus, what became of your wings ? Icarus, did you give up your wings, white waxed waterlogged wings ? Icarus, I ask you, did you go into the depths, did you go into the blue darks ? But you only smile sharp as a knife, and you say nothing, And all I have in hand now is all fog and smoke.

- i saw Icarus in the breath of the sea and the shore

Shreya S.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled heart #spilled poetry #poetry #poem #poet #poets #poets on tumblr #icarus and the sun #icarus #icarus my beloved #greek mythology #myth #mythology #these liminal ages #experimental writing

[kabhi-kavi]

streetlight

the streetlight falls oh just so upon the soft sheets of my bed, and the dark of my room is wide awake, curling around me my shadow, oh so invitingly sweet; and i do not know what i feel deep inside the cage of bones, but i know all of it was too deep but i know all of it was of dark; for i have not seen the starry skies in far too long, and easier do i breathe beneath all the stars shining bright - yet tonight i shall sleep solemn and tonight i shall sleep silent and perhaps, i shall sleep sweet under the streetlight shining into the soft dark of this room unawake and undreaming…

Shreya S.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled heart #spilled poetry #poetry #poem #poet #poets #poets on tumblr #streetlight #nighttime #darkness #these liminal ages

[kabhi-kavi]

‘hell’ and ‘fuck’ combining into the much less substantial ‘heck’ is literally exactly the same energy as sodium and chloride combing to make table salt

[kabhi-kavi]

i.Yesterday, I saw you on the bus,   Blown up all over the sides, best place, first rank -   And I can only look upon your printed face   And I can only look away from the sceptre of your face

ii.How do you forgive yourself    For all that you didn't become ?    How do I forgive myself, how do I forgive you    For all the ruins that lie between ?    How do I even start to forget you ?

iii.They say you are made up out of     Those who are the most around;     I do not know for how long after     I do not know for how long it stays,     But what I do, truly, know is this -     My arms remain as smooth as ever     Smooth with the ghosts of harm,     For that was I did say to you,     For was it not the promise I made you ?

iv.Ghosts are all the feelings     They have never expressed,     Ghosts are just all the memories     Tinted with the sepia of grief;     And grief is but all the love left     Lying behind, like a bee's sting     Stinging even as it goes to its death.     What does it about me that I never knew     To let go of a dying, stinging thing ?

v.No one knows what to do   With the wilted flowers   From a lover, even now   Even after all these years-   Then how would they know   How could anyone even know   What to do with the dying tree   We cared for all those years   With its roots dug down deep ?

vi.Yesterday, I saw you on the bus     Blown up all over the sides, first place, best rank -     I see your smile, a ghost floating on your printed lips     And your smile is a whisper in the back of my mind.

- no one knows what to do with friends loved and lost

Shreya S.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled heart #spilled poetry #spilled work #poetry #poem #poet #poets #poets on tumblr #friends #you broke my heart #broken heart #these liminal ages

[kabhi-kavi]

Suffering never felt religious…… Sacrifice could never be holy…… What I mean to say is: The sun glances into my kitchen, Soft light through the window Soft light upon you by the stove Soft light shining on the platform- I don't know what this is, what it is, But it feels a lot like kindness, Us being together by this stove Lit in this kitchen in this light — What I mean to say is: The sky a shimmery sable shroud The sky utterly diamond-studded, As long, as wide as the horizon end, And we laid back on the ground And the stars smiled high up above As their stories filled the cold air, Till the sun rose all hot and pale And the shy dark Dawn threw up Rosy fingers to cover her blue face — What I mean to say is: Somebody brought an orange one day, So ridiculously big and round and orange - First, we peeled it down to its core, Then round the circle it went A piece within everyone's palms And we talked and joked and laughed While orange trickled down our throats — What I mean to say is: Nothing's as sacred as those times When you're as human as you'd be, When you're as alive as you'd be — What I mean is this: Suffering was never quite as holy; Sacrifice would never be as religious…

- living is the most divine act we could ever do

Shreya S.

#poetry #poem #poet #poets #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled poetry #spilled heart #spilled feelings #divine #religion #these liminal ages #Queued post

[kabhi-kavi]

Love as Acceptance

Caitlyn Siehl // Leonard Cohen, "Anthem" // Rumi, "Bitterweet" // trans. Anne Carson, "Euripides" // Sade Andria Zabala, "Coffee and Cigarettes" // tumblr acct @/gayassnatural // Anne Carson, "H of H Playbook" // William Shakespeare, "Sonnet 116" // Clementine von Radics, "Mouthful of Forevers" // Toni Morrison, "Jazz"

[kabhi-kavi]

the dead-march of satyavan

Slung atop this ashen shoulder, I see you following silent, Footprints stained rust brown And feet with a alta of blood. How far shall you follow me, How far shall you follow him The Dharmaraj, Lord of Death ? I see how your throat is parched, Lips chapped, hair bedraggled As you walk in the withering Sun, Behind gray Yamaraj astride upon His great grey steed, the reddā, As steady and sturdy as the other (for mustn't he have sturdy frames to carry all these souls across ? shouldn't he be able to bear it, all the weight of all the actions, all the consequences of lives lived ? who would, could know better than the first man to go across Vaitrni, about the weight of a life lived ?) Savitr himself blazes hotter As he rises higher and higher, And yet you follow silent 'n steady As if it were a kinder Sun above- Oh Beloved ! You continue even After he the Death-Lord gave you Boons holy from his divine hands; Oh My Dear ! You continue on After him the Dead-Lord gray As he prepares us to go across; Oh My Wife, so dear to me ! I haven't known how you found me, I haven't known my past's punya, But I'm glad for whoever led you, I'm glad you strayed to my doors; My life's, however short, sweeter Having had you by my side all time- Even now as I prepare to cross You do not leave me alone - Perhaps you shall even overturn What is written in my records, Perhaps you shall, in stubbornness, You'll even overturn Yama himself; But I hope you know deep inside, By the strings that weave yourself, Even in the deepest and highest Afterlife My love of you cannot ever overturn; One way or other I'll come back to you.

Shreya S.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled heart #spilled words #spilled poetry #poetry #poem #Poems #poet #poets #poets on tumblr #hindu mythology #hindu myths #myths #mythology #satyavan #savitri #satyavan and savitri #these liminal ages #Queued post

[kabhi-kavi]

though I wonder, my dear, will you, shall you, gaze back - can you behold me as I walk, not beside but behind you as I step in your footprints - will you gaze back at your path and behold me in sheer longing as together we traverse out of dear Persephone's realm, given to her from a god's love, or shall you obey them, believe in their honey sweet words as deceit sits coiled in them like a snake sleeping so silent, striking when slumber-awoken - but i know not which of it is true, for i'm dead, naught but the soul, and now dead i only know your love so deep, so strong, so pure, that split the Earth so deep it reached down till dark Hades, that moved even the Eumenides to streams of sorrowful tears; i can remember only the echoes, as faint as they be, of a life lived, i know now only to follow behind silent as a soul, step in step of you, and i know only of those things that truly only the un-mortals do - our strings, Fates do twine no more and your frayed ends lie near, they do not stretch too much far; my love, muse-son, you were a tragedy long before you'd sang your songs, your heart full of love, of longing, you could never not turn around (so it was woven, so it was to be) but i could never ever fault you for your love, for your look back, what more could one ask for than knowing one was truly loved loved as much as a mortal could - no i could never scorn you, even even as we become a sorry tragedy - as it was woven, so it was to be - i will go across the Styx again, ride old Charon's ferry once again and never once shall i be woeful for you loved me far too deeply, all i shall do is hope deeply, truly that you'll forgive yourself one day, find some happiness before you find yourself, by my side, once again.

- and eurydice, dying a second time, uttered no complaint, for what could she complain of other than love

Shreya S.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled heart #spilled poetry #poetry #poem #Poems #poet #poets #poets on tumblr #eurydice #orpheus #orphydice #orpheus and euridyce #these liminal ages #Queued post

[kabhi-kavi]

I will be so kind to myself, I want to be kind to myself, I am kind enough to myself - But somedays, some of days, The hand finds itself, lonely, Hanging on tips by the throat, No one squeezes, no one dies Nobody, none at all, suffocates - I don’t know whose Hand is it I don’t know which Hand is it, But these, the echoes of harm, They spell out enough words Yes, they do spell out enough - For when I’m awake, I’ve no hands Yearningly hanging on my neck, And as I fall asleep into dreams I choke, I cough, I suffocate; Perhaps, this means something, Maybe, it should mean something, But I have never ever known How art seeps secret into real life, And I have— I will never know When does art seep steady slow - Alas! Perhaps, It is what it is And I shall never ever once know, And I’ll so kind to my own self That flowers will bloom within, And somedays when I won’t be, There’ll be a hand by my throat, Fingertips clinging on yearningly.

- the lines blur so much somedays and art is what but feelings that overflow the cup

Shreya S.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled heart #spilled poetry #spilled emotions #poetry #poem #poet #poets #poets on tumblr #these liminal ages

[kabhi-kavi]

I will be so kind to myself, I want to be kind to myself, I am kind enough to myself - But somedays, some of days, The hand finds itself, lonely, Hanging on tips by the throat, No one squeezes, no one dies Nobody, none at all, suffocates - I don’t know whose Hand is it I don’t know which Hand is it, But these, the echoes of harm, They spell out enough words Yes, they do spell out enough - For when I’m awake, I’ve no hands Yearningly hanging on my neck, And as I fall asleep into dreams I choke, I cough, I suffocate; Perhaps, this means something, Maybe, it should mean something, But I have never ever known How art seeps secret into real life, And I have— I will never know When does art seep steady slow - Alas! Perhaps, It is what it is And I shall never ever once know, And I’ll so kind to my own self That flowers will bloom within, And somedays when I won’t be, There’ll be a hand by my throat, Fingertips clinging on yearningly.

- the lines blur so much somedays and art is what but feelings that overflow the cup

Shreya S.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled heart #spilled poetry #spilled emotions #poetry #poem #poet #poets #poets on tumblr #these liminal ages

[kabhi-kavi]

I will be so kind to myself, I want to be kind to myself, I am kind enough to myself - But somedays, some of days, The hand finds itself, lonely, Hanging on tips by the throat, No one squeezes, no one dies Nobody, none at all, suffocates - I don't know whose Hand is it I don't know which Hand is it, But these, the echoes of harm, They spell out enough words Yes, they do spell out enough - For when I'm awake, I've no hands Yearningly hanging on my neck, And as I fall asleep into dreams I choke, I cough, I suffocate; Perhaps, this means something, Maybe, it should mean something, But I have never ever known How art seeps secret into real life, And I have— I will never know When does art seep steady slow - Alas! Perhaps, It is what it is And I shall never ever once know, And I'll so kind to my own self That flowers will bloom within, And somedays when I won't be, There'll be a hand by my throat, Fingertips clinging on yearningly.

- the lines blur so much somedays and art is what but feelings that overflow the cup

Shreya S.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled heart #spilled poetry #spilled emotions #poetry #poem #poet #poets #poets on tumblr #these liminal ages #Queued post

[kabhi-kavi]

about the color blue

maggie nelson / ? / john koethe / @soracities / ? / rick humphrey / mazzy star / mitski

[kabhi-kavi]

All Our Afters

Death stands by my shoulders, A white cloak shading kind lips, Gaunt hands utterly sleeved. They glance upon the garlands, The many flowers strewn around As if a garden of love persevering; With a voice of soft rotting dirt, They tell of the souls with them And the brightness of After Lit by lives fondly remembered. Perhaps grief shan’t soon pass But the heart does rest easy Hearing daedal Death’s tales - And knowing in the deepest hearts, Knowing them as gospel truths.

Shreya S.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled heart #spilled poetry #poetry #poem #Poems #poet #poets #poets on tumblr #these liminal ages #death #death tw #death cw