Another powerful message from our social media coordinator Justin. I have wrestled with demons, as a lot of writers do. No stigma. Thank you Justin for your inspiration.
A Conversation with Death
What has skipped
this levitating chest?
The bone hangs like a mantle in midair
You come and collect
the smell of sleep from my mouth,
my anesthetized mouth
over and over
rowing across white seas
You come and rest in my mouth
The lovely sound of crows conversing
Nobody understands this,
Nobody understands this love,
this endless devotion of yours
But you come,
you come anyway,
You come and lick the whiff of my floating mouth
You eat and glow inside it
You glow, you glow
Together we hook the sky
and play with it in our laps
Together, we make the earth
swim between our lazy feet
Together, we growl
Nobody understands this,
this affection of yours
You, from beyond life,
from the rim of death
You, that only travel in lightyears,
Come for me
feeble bone resting on time’s ailing forehead
Bio: Aakriti Kuntal, aged 26, is a poet and writer from Gurugram, India. Her work has been featured or is forthcoming in Selcouth Station, RASPUTIN: A Poetry Thread, The Hindu, Madras Courier, Blue Nib, and Visual Verse among others. She was awarded the Reuel International Prize 2017 for poetry and was a finalist for the RL Poetry Award 2018.
Insomnia of an Altar Boy’s Wedding Night
first you learn to parse yourself out.a second of your time can be weighed
in lack of sleep, in a tiresomenesswhich reverberate throughout the day.
my body is thin when I wake,my skin is a flimsy veil
only apt at keeping the obvioushidden, it is well suited for wedding
gowns, for covering dining room
there are some while have learnedto live on crumbs of a life,
on the bits and pieces left overby those who present themselves
as well meaning, who have mastered the art of reflecting others. you see,
people wish to be clean, eventhose who dine on rusted tins
and sentimental resentments cravethe acceptance which comes
with perceived purity.
each of these nails is preservedfor my coffin, I have little use
for hardened finger tips or crosses,
for protected nubs.
paper cuts happen to the bestof us, even when we swear only
to read custom nuptial vows, pleasof security, of hopeful longevity.
in the end, we value sleep becausewe needn’t remember our dreamsif we do not wish. if only life
were so liminal, so full of the wethorniness of spring, of maddening blooms,
of lust presented without the caveat of human decency.
a Sunday morning,
brush… brush… brush.
A round bottle of face wash,
cleanse your soul now,
with your knuckles upside down,
Watch the sky,
sip on your tea,
a warm ginger aroma
sip like an old lady,
boredom comes next,
one , two , three
naked bruises & body
a shower so surreptitious,
calming yet haunting.
A naked observation of life,
galvanizing particles in the air,
splitting & chopping
a few more apples to bite now.
Quiet your mind.
these are steps for survival,
steps to knit a cobweb around your empty body.
Collect a few more items,
mosaic dreams, perhaps?
Collect some more,
keep it in your fading garden of memory.
Lighten up your shoulders again,
Repeat or you die.
A fair muse.
My mother's greatest joy
and my father's worst surprise.
Being born a girl,
I am nothing in the court's eyes.
Practicing law and government as my brother has done.
But sadly as a princess a crown will never be won.
So many things to accomplish and to learn.
I must have all languages right,
For someday it will be my turn.
Fair bright skin
And beauty beyond compare.
A young virgin girl
with her mother's hair.
My father's pawn
and my mother's daughter.
I must have a son
to not be slaughtered.
I have a duty to God
and to the Holy Father.
I must marry a king
to be my father's daughter.
Lick my frustration laden eye trails
with your feverish degree of need.
I’ve pulled apart my patience in brushstrokes,
and sit damming rampant torrents of greed.
Traipsing through a shutter-box as though
a thrown skein of glass trapped thoughts.
Spending words of do not try a thousand times
until they’re echoing so loud it hurts.
There is less difficulty here then meets the eye,
even when it’s filled with sorrow.
We’re on endless roads, journeying upward
on travels through time into tomorrow.
The final hurdle is simply to start the race,
get up off your ass and focus.
Move away from rabbit holes and wasted days
lest the world consume us as the locusts.
A great editor and an inspired writer.
I told myself I would write
but there’s nothing to say
the whore at my core
says to go fuck something
but I don’t have what it takes
to go to war today
the sun goes dark
in the park
I watch and wait
for the Hand of God
to crush all of this disease
into a neutron star
I don’t think he will
but I must be patient
’cause I do not think he’s far
ponder push plush plundering
pulverizing prideful personal passions
preponderant, perforation pleasures
pause, pun, passive in passing
puking porous published politics
please, prequel perplexing Pacmans
percolate posh postulating pyrotechnics
pixies payoff pricks piling puling prominence
I think I need some E or X
clip, clip, clip
news stories or .45 questions
See? Seas are busy this time of year
I wonder what the dolphins think
when the moon occults the sun
does the ocean…
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A great photographer and wonderful writer.
Been back in city of Mindelo half a week. What was missing in my life? Prayer. I had slipped into a survivalist existence somewhat. Like the fast rising and falling Tropic of Cancer sun, the city, it’s lights, noises, did not seem to offer much in the way of night, morning, day, night transitional space. Similarly, the half hourly strictly regimented bugle calls from the nearby military camp dawn to dusk, the hand of man ( must ) prevail it must seem.
2130h. I could have just sat and sat, but nature called, strongly. Legs were so tired, but I donned my white flip flops and ambled toward the beach just 12 minutes away, with a little slightly scuffed book in my hand.
Moored ships in the bay, dancing sounds from the club along the Praia; all, beach, languid waves, bathed in the light of our many electric suns –…
View original post 131 more words