WOW Aakriti telling you what a poem IS.
Day 29 #napowrimo Prompt: Meta poem
Where does a poem exist?
The blank ink is deflated
in its solitude, counting
how many syllables make an inch,
how many spaces make a crease,
and how many words make rain
Where, where does a poem exist?
I shut my eyes and the paper shatters
I can still touch it, let it collapse into
membranes after membranes
Is it there, that leaf hanging like a tongue?
Mocking my nuisance or the blood vessel
which has tightly wound around the femur
and refuses to now give up this new family…
Is it anywhere, anywhere at all?
Memories; perhaps, the memory
of tongue, rinsed like a blue cloth
in summer bright,
Where, where does the poem exist?
A throb spinning like a lattoo
before arriving into a thought
Is that the poem? Or is it its translation
into a verb? Murdering the soil
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