#napowrimo #Day22 #Ekphrasticpoem

I imagine the day I pick up the brush,
it would be a heralding, all time would fall
into my lap, and a body shall emerge
from the slate lake that I am

I have watched and I have waited
long afternoons, tracing the singular
arrow of light, its textures, its harmonious
thickness at the end of day, its long, long

yawns in afternoon, the doping shadows
leaning towards a something unfamiliar,
reaching out to their own death
I have watched the cracking of flowers

and the interstices of leaves for so long
they feel like a chopstick in my throat,
forever palpitating in a priemeval joy
When I take a walk in the morning,

when the soil is yet asleep in lustful longing,
I have seen the unreal beauty of flowers
There archimedean rhythms translated into
statues of cryogenic ukeleles

Each color so distinct from the other
Nothing in nature is uniform,
each leaf separate from the other,
each pigment a shade heavier

or lighter and when I stare, it all comes to me,
flooding my mouth, my hand, my lungs
and I can say that the day I pick up the brush
would be like a heralding, I will be translated

into light and shadow, form and figure,
the gentle stroke disappearing into its own appetite
and the vivid one like a fat stain on the thigh,
dripping from the ephemeral into eternity

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

2 thoughts on “Heralding

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