When I sit where the wind enters, marble sun smudged on balcony tiles, it profusely carves dialogues into
my breezy heart, I watch them gather soil from scattered roads
and build themselves tiny rocket wings

Then they begin to buzz, crickets in my mouth, my throat, my entangled violet being
I watch the day perspire, choke on my shoulder blades,
crisp lanterns hanging from threads
I watch as people rewind, go back to bed, resume a day that has already passed,
a day that has lived a thousand too many lives

I think of all the centuries that have bled, of men and wars, of history books and
rotten cotton
soaked in blood and sweat and cherry dreams
I think of great men and the harmonies that swept paddy fields
and of the dullness that rises again,
the nature of anti-matter to strike back, always, declared persistence

I think of all the nights that rolled into days only to have their throats slit
and hung at the altar of moon,
I think of the continuity of the system
the pervasive nature of darkness
How it will always find its way back into the hearts of men,
the audacity of all things foolish

I watch the sun eat the leaves, orange flames and gasoline licks
and I succumb, fall flat and rotate on my angled back,
swipes and crosses, the earth is rushing through me,
I know as my spine becomes a vein, a seed, a flower
I am spinning, curtailed in the arms of time
and I know that this moment is the only reality to life

 © Aakriti Kuntal
Image source : Unsplash.com Image edits : Aakriti Kuntal

5 thoughts on “Spin

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