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