Scarlet Lines – Candice Louisa Daquin

Water-Flowers-Photography-by-Nicolas-Senegas-e1473392893297

We were running so fast, lost our hold

on reality

it became a normal thing to

wake when darkness blotted sky with festive blackout

silence roamed halls of disapproval with tender switch

then I tasted, the purity of life

like a distilled drink, untouched by sweetness

this draft did not yield to usual fears

of becoming irrelevant as a woman

shifting weightless from one state of being to another

without permission, no discernible change

save the decisions made in our absence

by controller of who we are, when we don’t yet know

how to halt the discourse, throw stereotype and expectation

out with convention

the whip and goad of woman since

first she was brought to her knees and told

I control the discourse, your identity is shaped

and fractured by my say-so

I label your value or deem you worthless

because you are too old

beyond a date in time

there the guillotine falls

sorry you’re on this side now, without your head

sorry you can’t gain admittance into our club

we only like them fresh and mailable

any woman who thinks for herself, must be trouble

make up rules to control her, keep her cowed

give her endometrium and other punishments

it’s all rather biblical, said the atheist as he

inserted the next record of tricks

some cruelty smells like him

and his turpentine prostituted room

burning on false fuel, I was only 18 then

yesterday and a century later

we don’t oblige women with scars and fat

nor sagging breasts, nor any chin hair

if you’re greying or balding, go fuck yourself

no one else will

the seat in the waiting room is a laundry shute

out with the old, in with the new

we have voracious appetite for shiny flesh and unstrung hymens

I borrowed some platforms and sewed up my leaks

put on a negligee and three layers of peat

the bog man looked pretty good for his age too

hide behind war paint, chew through your sickness

give me succor baby, give me raspberry crush, give me voodoo

lovers who oblige the second time around and the fourth and the fifth

standing freezing outside Hotel St. Pierre

drinking your waste and glut of youth

I gained admittance on false pretense

hasn’t it always be that way?

change your name, gender, race

put on another person’s face, inherit for a day

or an hour or a life time

all the little girls want your number now

all the boys want to pray between your legs

serve me something unshaven and hot instead

there are fevers in the walls, trying to get out

we have three minutes until it’s midnight

then illusions are exposed, everyone sees the truth

middle-age never used to be a purple bruise

we made it this far

tomorrow the sun is coming out

remove the war-paint, undo divining spell

maybe the light won’t extinguish you

I want you to like me, for who I am

not the girl who tricks you with her little doll cries

was it yesterday or last century?

we lay beneath your blanket and you impregnated me

with the urge to live forever, never grow old

even the beautiful turn to grub and worm food

live fearlessly, wear yourself boldly, you said

as you eased the knife to the sweet spot

cutting upward from your pulse, in thin

traceable, scarlet lines

Ferment-Aakriti Kuntal

ferment3

[Poem and art by Aakriti Kuntal]

I fell in love

with a different kind of earth

Simmering

Blue and glazed yellow walls

Glimmering second coats

Life

burning

beneath my flicking tongue

I grew a cotton ball in my throat

fields in marrow and suspension in skin

Spanned my stockings and grafted my knuckles

I undertook

   in swift easy strokes

the voids in the air

and swiveled through them

A zebra, a lioness, an albatross and a hummingbird

Humming

Humming

 

I was sixteen,

tender moist bones,

tiptoeing through the corpses of history

and the

spinning frames of time.

I was sixteen

Flat, underground, gaseous existence

I had swallowed only incense

And I swelled

Daisies in my earlobe, in and around

A spiral existence

Inward and outward

Tomatoes in cubes, platters in my succulent breasts

My face, tatters, snow and landscapes

crayons and clay

I thought I could be

Everything

Blue, green or gray

I thought I could

Be

I fell in love with a different kind of earth

Pomegranate contours and bouncy lines

Unraveling

Unraveling ever so slowly

in my entwined arteries

 

And then I started to spill

Every time I sat

I started to spill

I spilled like a birthing wound

Commotion sewing into

my waistline

A watercolor trajectory

 

Furry tornadoes wheeled out

from

my back, my limbs, my neck

My shaky head

in dissonance

My shaky lip

in fermentation

I am a yeast

I am a yeast

For

I am fermenting

I am fermenting

Cotton stacks piling on my diaphragm

I fell in love

with a different kind of earth

that floats like coal quartets in my chest

Decaying

Decaying

Into an uncertainty

of longitudinal story lines


Aakriti Kuntal is a 24-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.

 

Ferment-Introducing Aakriti Kuntal

ferment3

[Poem and art by Aakriti Kuntal]

I fell in love

with a different kind of earth

Simmering

Blue and glazed yellow walls

Glimmering second coats

Life

burning

beneath my flicking tongue

I grew a cotton ball in my throat

fields in marrow and suspension in skin

Spanned my stockings and grafted my knuckles

I undertook

   in swift easy strokes

the voids in the air

and swiveled through them

A zebra, a lioness, an albatross and a hummingbird

Humming

Humming

 

I was sixteen,

tender moist bones,

tiptoeing through the corpses of history

and the

spinning frames of time.

I was sixteen

Flat, underground, gaseous existence

I had swallowed only incense

And I swelled

Daisies in my earlobe, in and around

A spiral existence

Inward and outward

Tomatoes in cubes, platters in my succulent breasts

My face, tatters, snow and landscapes

crayons and clay

I thought I could be

Everything

Blue, green or gray

I thought I could

Be

I fell in love with a different kind of earth

Pomegranate contours and bouncy lines

Unraveling

Unraveling ever so slowly

in my entwined arteries

 

And then I started to spill

Every time I sat

I started to spill

I spilled like a birthing wound

Commotion sewing into

my waistline

A watercolor trajectory

 

Furry tornadoes wheeled out

from

my back, my limbs, my neck

My shaky head

in dissonance

My shaky lip

in fermentation

I am a yeast

I am a yeast

For

I am fermenting

I am fermenting

Cotton stacks piling on my diaphragm

I fell in love

with a different kind of earth

that floats like coal quartets in my chest

Decaying

Decaying

Into an uncertainty

of longitudinal story lines

[I, Aakriti Kuntal, belong to the country of stratified rainbows and veritable colors, India. Currently working as a Network Engineer, I have taken to my passion for words rather recently. I was recently published in 1947 Journal and The BlueNib among others.

More photos by Aakriti here: https://www.instagram.com/blue_hemisphere/ %5D