| Jane's work is an exploration of her inner consciousness, creating her work is spiritual / emotional catharsis for her. She likes music, reading and vegan carrot cake.
Jane's poetry has or will appear in the Divine Revolution, The Luciole Press, and The Wilderness House Literary Review. She is the author of "Love, its Wrath and Others", a collection of poetry and artwork.
www.janechakravarthy.com |
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| Existence
I want to feel your hands in mine, the grip, the encapsulation dislodging circulation from my palms to my fingers, pulsing, red, swollen squeeze my hands like a heart that stopped beating I want to feel your body against mine, ribs tattooing my skin, heart beating, stomach taut, anticipation, your body soaking its wetness against mine, heat me, the glowing sun burning, blistering, alive air bubbles trapped, float on our bodies pop wrap your passion around mine, I want to feel your lips, take over, cover, control, seize me, my body, willing puppet, I will not run away I want to feel, your strong tender wet fingers mould my body mind and heart, resize, reshape, disintegrate my one-ness I will join your blood your heart-beat is mine |
| Jane Chakravarthy |
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Birthday And a birthday card arrived today through the mail, it scorched my skin, a portent of doom in my hand the letter unopened I know its sender, meek fingers, and shallow heart that is not so tender for long, eyes that see through my soul, fingers that burnt me long ago,those visceral scars didn't heal so well, a ridge now rough on my naked fare the moon it shines for my eyes, and I see crystal clear, a white canvas for my arms to embrace when the sun shines I'm blinded, my shell of turquoise that holds true in my eyes of grey the flowers in my garden, I grew from seed, I had to soak them in water for twenty fours hours to soften the hard incarcerating nut now a light, green stem escapes and grows from a crack that burst when the water took, while I slept summer will be colourful and I'll sleep while the those buds ripen to hues I've not seen in some time those sullen hands that hold my soul rigid and fingers deep around my heart, the dark sea I traveled through, still the water didn't bleed that nut for me |