Ferment

I hate writing intros before my poems, but it's exam season right now, and I felt this is the best depiction of my "internal regime" during this season. (So here, enjoy this repulsive fragment of me, distilled and very unapologetic)

Ferment

The mind curdles before it breaks,

a slow souring of thought,
where hours sweat and clot
beneath the skull’s thin vault

Stress coils like old incense
overburnt, choking,
its ash settling in the lungs
of every intention I raise

My breath tastes of iron and fatigue,
as if language itself has rusted,
and syllables scrape the throat
when I try to name myself

The body knows first.
Skin tightens in quiet revolt,
muscle recoils from touch,
even air arrives unclean

And yet, in this congestion of self,
a thought of relief moves through me,
unwelcome, necessary,
almost merciful

I despise this wanting,
not to be held,
but to be emptied

Rasa: Bibhatsa (Disgust)

- Mridini