‘ Time collects in the circle of this wound. Here you shall sprout:
full of color, full of vigor, complete as all light. ‘

Mother, I counted your skin
like the ceaseless motion
of tongue assessing the irregularity of jaw

You are a convex liquid armchair
rocking back and forth
time squeezing your lap
Your seeking hands are like lizards,
stagnant, then running
Cerulean eyes, cheeks of crepe
Palm trees circling
the diaphragm
to form
my pillow of orange lights

You said through feverishly gray lips
that spring is here
that a flower has birthed in your womb,
water, turquoise pools
Mediterranean swirls and violet streams
That you have solved
the anomaly of friction
And now you are afloat
in a vacuum
long, large
and quieter every second

I watched through umbilical
blinds and colloidal irises
Meteors in your baked body
I watched you detonate
You are a quark
caught under
the drift of a failing bloodstream

I can hear you
hurting like mountain faces being torn apart
ice, vapor, ice
a viscous cold forest

Murmuring to me
that spring is here

Clocks in your mouth, needle to Polaris
I can feel you detach
like an organ
Your finger pointing to the cactus,
wandering within
globular streams
of my neonatal body

Telling me, threads of severed lips parting
that spring is here, right here
A wound, tiny and capable
That I am being born
I am being born in different colors
colors of you, your face, your gentle running skin
I am being born
and spring is inside me
© Aakriti Kuntal Image Source: Flickr


17 thoughts on “Stretch-marks-on-the-face-of-spring

  1. Okay…I think your next hit song is this one. Now, this is surrealism of poetic cinema.

    wow!!! I believe you and i, should collaborate on a poem together.

    You don’t know how much I love this kind of writing. You and I, have a lot in common with writing like this. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

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