My earth song
riddles on my pouring lips 
A parabolic town of towing beeps
scrolling through the pitter and patter
Its rhythm grounding in mainland peeps

The suburb heaps,the mailman dreams
The quivering train and farmhouse leaves 
Oil pages, coffee beans, wheat songs, spinach grease
In tomato sauce and spaghetti breads
In garlic soups and garland braids

My earth song
is a fat month
that squeezes between reality puns
Patched on the video recorder 
it scales in bits
Chewing its way through boring whimsical creaks

A bargaining teapot
A sunflower recluse
My earth song
is a pile of weeds and seeds
Humming in the crow tongue
And puckering in henna bleats
My earth song is not a song
Never a song 
It's a lackadaisical rhythm of the town dreams

©Aakriti Kuntal

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