The-Wrist-is-a-red-hoop-Aakriti Kuntal/Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

Hands-are-Shelves  (  Picture Series ( ii ) )

Wrist by wrist The blood sings Talking of its lives of its many births within the arching sands of death's naked breaths I hear the cackling The blood gone dry red chalk, red rocks in red teeth Dropping, falling, free fall You are Christmas curtains and curtains of red Sleek, silver rubbed on red, raw umber, burnt umber I watch, your only spectator, your faithful companion from the scales of ripped eyes I watch your face, it's wry horizon of white pus cells I know the sound of the fall, it comes to me like sex Like slow gradual hymns of pasted nights on dragging windows and walls Windmills in the mouth shredding every hint of knowledge No language enters here, particles of air standing outside, their red potato faces swollen in shame I know as I am all red A red…

View original post 75 more words

Author: Sudden Denouement

A Literary Collective

One thought on “The-Wrist-is-a-red-hoop-Aakriti Kuntal/Writings of Aakriti Kuntal”

  1. An absolutely wonderful piece, Aakriti. As always, I’m in awe of your writing. Your thoughts. “Windmills in the mouth shredding every hint of knowledge” Can’t get that image out of my head. I will talk to you later about deeper thoughts on it. Remind me. I’m forgetful.

    Like

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s