View captured by Akshita Pareek
My poems spoke of
currencies, gravitation, algebra,
in seventh grade,
before they escaped
They drank the cold air,
hopped and squealed,
gaped at everything
like penguins left open in
an American museum.
They started exploring the sections
with restricted access-
trying to prick the timid corners,
fidgeting with clotted wounds,
opening dusty binders
containing pages stained
with ink, blood, and tears;
my poems sat unraveling
museums inside of me,
without asking for a key.
They fed on books and newspapers;
consumed around fifty-two chapters
and twenty pages,
So, they worked faster
to design vocal cords
for each section
and then taught them to speak;
to cry, laugh, shout, howl, hoot and smile,
they taught them to have a voice.
Now my poems speak of
love, resistance, anxiety, and identity
through roses, stars, palms, and nose rings.
They speak to me,
speak through me
from the carpeted museum inside,
always under renovation,
always uncovering new sections,
always empowering me
Akshita Pareek is a nineteen-year-old perfectionist with big dreams, trying to wade through her entangled teenage years. Studying is her coping mechanism and she can be found buried deep inside newspapers at odd hours of the day. An extrovert, dog lover, and travel enthusiast who finds her home in aesthetics and the poems she can create at any given time of the day.