I pluck the cot strings
My head swimming
mosaic carpets aligning
Rosemary feet approaching
hooking to, perching on
these aloof dandelions
that run like rivulets around my calves

I sway
in the thirst of neel breeze
and the wheat faces
of my hay frocks begin to spurn
Yarns of cloth, Yarns of dawn
How do I weave nets of such emerald wealth ?
my heart now a buzzing cuckoo nest

I  cling to
the musical hypothesis sieving
Days have aged
since the sun uttered wood songs in my breaths
and agni seared my breasts
with caramelized butter warmth
Think I’m in another birth
one of fortune
one of ceramic oak stardust

My palms glimmer
in the red sand
fault lines running like viscous gold
conjuring fragments of your dispersed grail
I bury my head
fountains of mahogany love tie my braids
Where do I rest now ?
my chest is bloated
from this orchestration of  flute warps

There is a humid crop thriving on my wilting bosom
a repentance and a longing
I know not which
Rinsed tulsi lips have moulded
into strings of jal kundans
murmuring songs
to billowing cloud tremors

Sandal and kesar brush this dust pan
that I once called my almond soaked bloom
I am a clay mould
grains bulging around grains
I, an aplomb alchemist
one that sits in praise
of joys unknown

( Sanskrit origin (Hindi) :
Neel : Indigo, Agni : Fire, tulsi : medicinal plant,jal : water,
kundans : earrings)

© Aakriti Kuntal


4 thoughts on “Almond Broth

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