Ananya Chatterjee writes

Recipe

You have to
begin slow..
pucker your lips
and gently blow
the top soil of
practiced virtue.
Then, dig your heart..
take it apart..
until you hit
the filthiest grime..
the purest evil.
Let it trickle
down bones
and veins.
Let it horrify
your fingertips
and turn them blue
with birthing pain.

Then, and only then,
with screaming wounds,
and hurting insides..
the first cuss-word
you gently write..
becomes
Poetry

The Birth of Poetry -- Hebbar K.K.

Ananya Chatterjee writes

Acquaintance

We often meet

in between lovers,

on dim landings

of a spiral stairwell...

as

loosened and torn

between

ascent and descent..

our chests often

pause for breath.

In those few seconds

of skin brushing skin

our eyes anchor

at each other’s twinkles -

Dreaming of similar

impossibilities,

our hard-set jaws

soften once more.

We know that..

we know.

 

 The Spiral Staircase -- Lisa Rye