The Hidden Muse-Aakriti Kuntal/ Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

Poets take their pen in the mouth and thread a map a map on the saline stomach of the muse, pour in some cerulean ink, inhale the movements of the iris, as it absorbs, hesitates, gleams Words are sworn, of its curtailed grace, of its fluid tenderness and how it scorches the flesh I am a poetess. Looking for a muse, this perfection of a woman Unfortunately, I ain’t compelled by the thrill of this curving fountain Henceforth, I hunt. I transform into a poetic weapon and start to shoot at the mirror, scales of silver, BAng Drag my bleeding finger along the blooming tip of the nose, the murdered landscape beneath, pink rivulets of colored light, beads and shrapnels, lend them a flavor, a heightened hue of ardor Soak my body in the language of tongue, gluey, lipid screams screams like hurricanes, hurricanes of pleasure of devotion, of curses…

View original post 74 more words

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s