Indie Blu(e) Publishing is thrilled to announce that Devika Mathur’s stunning poetry volume, Crimson Skins, is now available in India through Pothi. We hope that this will make the book much more accessible to Devika’s many fans. Crimson Skins is available through Amazon.com, Amazon.com.uk, Book Depository, Barnes and Noble, Bookswagon, and other major online book retailers.
KRISTIANA: Crimson Skins is your second poetry collection, what has been the most rewarding part of reaching the point of publication? DEVIKA: Over the years I have grown into a more persistent writer honing my writing skills. The process of collecting art pieces and turning them all beautifully into a book takes a lot of creativity and patience. As … Continue reading Kristiana Reed Interviews Indie Blu(e) Author Devika Mathur
Devika Mathur is loved and known for her celebration of the abstract and surreal; she plays with words like toys and bites into them like ripe fruit. Everything Mathur yields is original and unique. Even when her voice is so reminiscent of Sylvia Plath, she remains a woman and poet unto herself, through and through. Crimson … Continue reading Review Of Crimson Skins, Devika Mathur – Kristiana Reed
Devika Mathur spreads like butter
your skin is a lumberjack
my fingers pricking the whims of your touch,
a vacant room suspended on my white skin,
a chair of your voice,
screaming, aesthetic nerves of the saliva.
i enter your body like a prayer,
again and again with hand-picked chants.
I spread
like butter on bare body,
cold sheets of absent air
sitting on my nostrils like a forgotten star,
love fills the places of vacant walls,
walls leaking
and veins dissolving.
love does that all.
(if my title does not do the justice to the poetry, pardon me)
Meet Devika Mathur, latest member of the Blood Into Ink Collective.
Sky tripping oranges and bars of star-dust
falling in our frolic skirts.
My sister, I conjured the sustenance of despair and morality
with your apple pie and the almond milk shake.
I churned your spotted skin into my minty breaths
making our bodies glow in the collision of the moon.
I heard mama cry and my cat frowning on the neighbours
when my back was scratched and segmented into tiny fragments.
I remember we did not eat our Dosa or any other fancy dinner for multitudinous days
oh, my sister a week passed by in disconsolate tanned knots of your memory.
And I am still a shivering, paradox of myth.
Bifurcated, haunted.
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Brave & Reckless 