#day19 #napowrimo #ABCDEarian poem

After all
blue is a
dancing in the
exosphere of the eye

Fish scales like
in a brown sack

Jute songs
kill the only whisker
lilting in the eye

Mammoth moths,
numb and electric,
Orgasms in death

Pity, I say, pity
Queer is this ecstasy!
roaring in the diaphragm,
serpent-like, a Basilisk
twitching in the stomach

Utter it, utter the word and the
violet eye may sing again
word by word, it may recite again, the
X-rayed lipid may bubble again and
your chest may bloom again in the blue
zenith of final love.

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

Elegy for the self

#day18 #napowrimo

Eye shut blue burn
In the thick smoke,
a hand roams

A single hand,
Five fingers,
Groping everything in sight

So much desperation
What could hold so much desperation
but a hand?
So much despair
What could hold so much despair
but a hand?

The palm swings like an electric noose

Droplets of blood
in the dome sky
Each muttering to the other
Cackles, a catacomb of whispers
Laughter, laughter, laughter

What precedes death but laughter?

In the thick smoke,
A tilted face, cold rubble eyes
Searching, Searching, Searching

What is the name of this
this funnel ?
This funnel
that stares back
Cold, cold, cold

A nightmare in green
The body in pulp and piss
Splitting, splitting,
no more solid

Now only a stare
Now only a hand
Nothing to reach
Nothing at all

A singular sound pervading all

The chatter of red, canine teeth hustling in the dark

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

The Final Dance

Day 17 #napowrimo Prompt: An unusual point of view

A clot, blue and red in memory
Then spooling,
a white lake in the palace of breast

The milk has no identiy
It is neither singular nor plural
Each molecule a slimy lotus,
dreaming like the white sky suspended in dust

There is a waterfall of voice
and the milk transmorphs into an embryo

limping and stuttering
between warm, red muscles,
bright ions of flesh and tiny plops of grease

There is a waterfall of voice,
the cow’s endless grunting

Its groggy echo
resounding between her flat, plateau teeth
And the milk learns to gurgle,
learns to froth for the very first time

It is fond of sleep,
sleep and lullabies
It knows of nothing but eternal rest and joy
Until suddenly,

It spills in quakes,
blasts into a separate universe
Drawn out with the tweezer of nail,
it falls into a bucket and screams

It has fallen
It wails, it wails
but not a single soul knows this whimpering

This is a different whimpering
The men don’t know it
The dead nod to it

It roams in a silver bucket
and hooks to the only vascular thing,
the stench of man
It forms eddies around him
Froths and bubbles like a winter hot spring

Froths and bubbles
Froths and bubbles
It does not realise when
it falls into a pan
Its tail on fire
It wonders in its last minute
what it is…
It doesn’t even know where it begins,
where it ends,
what space it holds,
what volume is its…

It falls into anything
It spreads to infinty
It condenses to a frozen bite
It knows not
It knows not
It knows not
It screams
It screams
It rises like a solitary wail
in the burning pot

Everything is on fire.
The milk in its death
gulped by a man
The flap of limp tongue
like a landscape
over which it bursts
then drops past the breast
and hears
the gurgle of a voice
Its final dance
Its final dance
in the red ocean of dreams

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

A Web of Toes

Day 16 #napowrimo Prompt: A list starting with the same words

The feet are frogs in water and neon fish in deep seas.
The feet are nimble feathers on a lover’s arched column and skin.
The feet are never alone.
The feet share dreams together in closed spaces.
The feet are baffled everyday by the air’s uncertainty.
The feet are spirals that fan the charged stratosphere.
The feet are balls that slide without their ally friction.
The feet are fleshy prongs that conjure flute music.
The feet know the desperation of air.
The feet know the loneliness of soil.
The feet know dentures and stone eyes.
The feet hold the pulse of an entire body.
The feet know every organ and its cabbage dreams.
The feet press into every uncharted territory.
The feet alone know the feeling of responsibility.
The feet know Pascal and life’s immense beauty.
The feet are akin to shoulders, they carry the weight of everything.
The feet are constantly ignored unless a woman decides to paint them free.
The feet know the bosom of grass and the clutches of damp streams.
The feet continuously defy gravity.
The feet know the spindle of stillness and the swiftness of hops.
The feet can stand still for centuries.
The feet are octopuses in sleep.
The feet are cactus in half-dreams.
The feet are crabs in nightmares and pixies in the sun’s sheen.
The feet, the feet, they are magnificent things,
knowing when to tether and when to fall,
when to rise and when to soar.

©️ Aakriti Kuntal


#napowrimo #Day15 Prompt: Dramatic monologue

You, round swirling face
with distant eyes.
Come with me.
Let’s elope.
I don’t know. ( Sneering)
there. There. There. There where the lavender
bud is branching. Look!
This lapse of time.
Take it in your teeth. Hold it on your tongue.
Revolve the tongue like it holds a piece of paan.
There, yes. You almost have it.
Interlock this memory.
Let’s jump!
Yes, here we are. This is the rim of Saturn.
You can’t see it. It’s just gases you think.
Neon and mehendi green, glowing.
Oh, how they are glowing!
You can’t see it. No worries.
They don’t exist
Twirl, I say.
There, do you see it?
Yes, you see nothing.
Look carefully though.
There, the rim!
It’s the horizon of our universe.
No, it’s not the end of the universe!
It’s merely the horizon.
Don’t you get it?
You are a small dot and your locus
is shifting.
You must hop.
Hop like a boomerang.
No, not literally!
Hop. Shut your eyes. Pronounce your death
upon the last verb of life.
Then bite. Red saliva. Let it drip
onto the birthing lavender.
There, there, there.
Yes, you are dead. No, you are not.
You are just floating.
The sea is white.
The sea is a color. A single color.
But you can’t see it. You can only sense.
You got no body!
Float. Float. Float
Relish this buoyancy,
You are the Earth’s momentum.
The slipping ball of no-mass across time.
You, you, you
are wearing a ring.
A round, oval blue ring.
Spinning, spinning.
Are you a planet?
You are in the cavity of time.
You are the muscle on the gum.
Bathing in the spit. You swim.
You swim.
You swim.
The eye of time is stuck like a doorknob.
It knows not what to do.
It only consumes itself.
Over and over.
But you, you swim.
Swim. Swim. Swim.

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

The Watch

Day 14 #napowrimo Prompt: homophones, homographs, absurdities

The eye is a hole in the whole
and the I is whole in the hole

The eye watch-es and
the watch eyes

the veil of uncertainty in
the whale of certainty

The eye is a hole in the whole
and the I is whole in the hole

The hole is a minute minute
and the whole is a giant giant

Yet is in the minutess of the minute
that the whole is whole

The wheel wheels
and the veil un-veils,
the wheeling of the veil in the wheel of time

It is where the eye watch-es
It is where the watch beats,
beets, beets, beets

Like open skies in course knights

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

Thread, yarn and song

Day 13 #napowrimo Prompt: Something you find mysterious

A strand of light
a single thread,
bulging, opulent, suddenly fat

between entangled sprawling fingers

I squint my eye
and in the black tesseract,
a single light disturbed into a trepidation

What is a single light
and what is more?

The poem always continues.

The poet dies,
falls flat into the Earth’s smiling body
and the poem, large
like the body of a sea,

In the gluttony of a drop,
light, light plucked from the wand of infinity

On the surface of sheet sea,
the hum of light

shivering, losing, falling,
a hand in and out of existence

In the window,
an orange sea,
in it eddies of gold

In my hands,
the plastic skin of light,
as if a shadow were peeled from its body

What is a single light
and what is more?
In the black night space
where only sound can be imagined
in white lit bones

There —
parallel to being
nowhere and everywhere at the same time
not travelling
but being acknowledged in different streams

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

An Ordinary Stone

Day 12 #napowrimo

I brought a stone home
It was no extraordinary stone
How we love the extraordinary,
the precious and the beautiful

It is plain.
If plain were to be defined, it is that.
Just an ordinary stone

It has no stripes of purple
nor a colloid of any orange hues,
It possesses no alchemy
nor is it smooth like the tongue’s drool

It is just an ordinary stone,
only an ordinary stone which
has seen the earth birth and ovulate
Just an ordinary stone

In its cold shell,
the history of oceans and streams

It is just an ordinary stone,
an ordinary stone it is

An eye that speaks only to the
rugged wind,
the wind its only lover,
bringing quiet stretch marks on it skin

It is an ordinary stone,
an ordinary stone it is
Dull, lifeless, cold black eye
fallen, wet, submerged

You touch it
and you glimpse into the other side of eternity,
a black coated mask,
listening to everything,
part of nothing

©️ Aakriti Kuntal


Day 11 #napowrimo Prompt: Origin

The body is a shell
a conch that hums to the vital slit

I stand before the giant sea
Its stirring waters eroding my feet
I’m travelling through time
This moment is a catapult in green

The eye of the sea is gray and orange
Its caught a thousand sunsets and a thousand nights
but it knows not what it is
So it burns with both earth and sky,
in both shadow and skin

It walks,
its tongue muddy brown
I yearn to slip into it, slide like a coin into webs
To lie down,
immerse the head, the body, the restless legs
and skin

I wish to lie
and hold the sieve of sand in the clacking
of my chest bones
Return bit by bit, sound by sound,
movement by movement
into the frantic streams

The body is a shell.
The first organism took birth in water.
I lie, my flat stomach collecting
all the stars from the liquid’s memory
An entire constellation on the belt around my navel
My crotch traversing at the speed of light
and on the nipple,
a single burden,
the song of first life and the eternal sea

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

A Single Flower

Day 11 #napowrimo #prompt:origin


Calcium teeth dream in floss
The dentist’s ray laser in the shark tank of saliva

The ear doctor
has kind words for prescription
‘You’re just 26. Life must go on.’

In the mirror, I watch the face The blank stare
bouncing back and forth There I stand
in a kaleidoscope of white thoughts
hyphens and dashes hung in scrolls wrought

When I was 15. I sat on narrow balconies
Joy was the bite of breeze on checkered skin
I would stare as the world froze in my palm
Then make of the fist an ice lark
The entire world squeezed in The blue sky crinkled

Those were the days of love.
I could stare at a small spot on the wall and love it.
It was this love this unknown sigh of all living things that I carried in the throbbing vein

It was a cream moth

At midnight it smoked into the memory of sun
and the black eye fell in it
In its lake of coarse dreams

I’ve been thinking of playing music for the girls in hospital rooms.

They think of patients as more dead than living. You can see it in the apathy, in the ugly swell of pity.

I would rub Air by Bach into the white walls and think that the walls would heal;
After all they must remember
the slashed beat of my heart,
the funnel of blood in the throat

Sometimes it’s worthless. This endurance.
This continuation of things.

One night, a few months back, I climbed to the edge of the roof
and ate the moon

It was pitch dark
It was pitch dark

But a single flower fell into my eye
How could I not give it all?

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

Kala Kohra

Day 10… Kala Kohra #napowrimo

Kala kohra kuch
samay ki chadar ki tarah
udta chla aa rha hai

Aasma ko nigalke
badlon ki savari
pe chla arha hai

Shareer ke zakhm
abhi bhi saavan
ki dhun gunguna rahe hain

Kuch pus and aur kuch neele
kachre jaisa pani liye firse
fusfusa rahe hain

Yhan saavanli ghaans ki aah
mein ek hazaar raton ki
kadvahat hai

Abhi toh kal hi rakt ne
fir se sissakna shuru kia tha

Abhi hi toh chehre ka samudra
fir se gulabi pavan chune laga the

Par kali chadar ki tarah
firse kala kohra

dhadkta chla arha hai

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

PS: My first poem in Hindi

An Imaginary God

Day 9 #napowrimo

Things that are and aren’t

violet and brown. A shire of tulips. A green vine runs in the fountain of mouth and small grapes drop into the gap between feet. There is a drop of water and a planet rests in it. Floats like a marble with ten thousand twinkling eyes. Each eye is borrowed from the centre of my body, each eye probes and perceives something else entirely. Each eye is a question and an answer unto itself. There is a feral quality in the midnight sun, round and neon green as it hangs by a thread around my neck. I stand alone in the black universe. The white light like bubbles in my palms. I stand alone in a black universe. When I close my eyes, I’m dead. When I wake up, I carelessly remember nothing of it. When I breathe a thousand insects inflate with me and when I exhale a thousand more deflate. I keep breathing. I keep breathing. I keep breathing. I’m breath. I’m the breath which is time and gravity. In me, the entire universe, past, present and future, forever alive. I, their protector, I, their lover, I their forsaken lover, so far and so near. I, who lives in their breaths as they live in mine. I, I do not exist. I am the whimper of life and the expanse of death.

Aakriti Kuntal