Oh creaking valleys of spring
Cut across my brazen arms
I am gold
I am orange
I am the scattered sleeves of pink

The threads of salvation
I am the seepage of autumn
The curls on the beds,
the foiled skin on the benches
The slippery wallow of Dal lake
My mouth froth-white
milk and grain
I am the coagulation of dahlias
The spurt of Himalayas

I am a hum
growing on a warm lap
Singing
to the fissures in a variegated sky

I am orange
I am red
I am pink
I am flesh
I am flesh
Singing into the pores of absorbent palms
In froth,
in saliva,
in hiccups
I spew meandering joys, meandering ache
layers upon layers
Like crisp paper, like frozen butterflies
I am the cold song
I am the cold song
Flapping behind the masts of dew

© Aakriti Kuntal

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5 thoughts on “Reverberation

  1. I get an almost ‘spiritual’ (for want of a better word at this time) vibe from this. It’s like you’re trying to define something undefinable. I guess poetry is best left to the reader to decipher. Anyways, lovely piece!

    Liked by 1 person

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