Image and writing By Aakriti Kuntal
Your absence is a theater. I grow disproportionate in it.
The winding and unwinding of curtains.
Warm air circulating through my face.
I imagine your body is no more a landscape.
That now it’s a home. A home with
movements and sounds and occupants.
Your arms stretching your lover’s slender body
into a lunar eclipse,
tirelessly eroding my feeble song. My tiny insignificant memory.
There’s been no word from you. Not even a sound.
It is as if your mouth transformed into a black hole
and took the rest of you too.
only I walk inside it.
Retracing my steps to see if I can
find any palpitating remains of us.
Anything, anything at all
that would explain
these patterned nights, these long long pauses in daylight.
How life has blatantly refused to comply anymore .
And how it has floated to some corner
of the nether sphere
where the sole thought of you is celebrated in adamant silence.
Where even you would now be barred from entering.
Where only I sit
with our sick wobbly songs sprawled all over my lap.
My lucid legs dancing to the tune of your voice.
Widening into a continuous void.
All stars, all planets sucked in.
And I, I all alone,
All alone by myself baby
thinking about us.
Thinking of this throbbing universe of
endless possibilities where we could just not be.
Aakriti Kuntal is a 25-year-old emerging poetess from the country of veritable colors and stratified rainbows, India. A Network Engineer by profession she has been writing for over a year now. She enjoys nature, music, all things geeky and all things art. Aakriti writes for the Writings of Aakriti Kuntal, and her work has been published in 1947 Literary Journal, Duane’s PoeTree blog, Visual Verse and Indian Periodical among others.