Day 28 #napowrimo Prompt: Meta poem

Where does a poem exist?
The blank ink is deflated

in its solitude, counting

how many syllables make an inch,
how many spaces make a crease,

and how many words make rain

Where, where does a poem exist?
I shut my eyes and the paper shatters

I can still touch it, let it collapse into
membranes after membranes

Is it there, that leaf hanging like a tongue?
Mocking my nuisance or the blood vessel

which has tightly wound around the femur
and refuses to now give up this new family…

Is it anywhere, anywhere at all?
Memories; perhaps, the memory
of tongue, rinsed like a blue cloth

in summer bright,
Where, where does the poem exist?
A throb spinning like a lattoo

before arriving into a thought
Is that the poem? Or is it its translation

into a verb? Murdering the soil
of sheet bit by bit, lick by lick

Is it there, there, there, here?
Here amidst the wild eyes

that read poems in their lashes
and preserve it in the tilt that they

gather from invoked feelings
Perhaps, a poem doesn’t exist…

Perhaps, it’s a flight, something in
constant motion, the blurring hand in sun,

twirling, twirling, twirling
Every moment, an evolution

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

34 thoughts on “Flight

  1. Like all your works, this too has alluring perfection! Thanks to existence that I found your poetry, and honestly you are my role model in poetry, perhaps it because of your ornamentation of words that I am so captivated by their deep meaning.

    Liked by 1 person

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