Night breaks apart, like pomegranate seeds in my palm: Poems

Aakriti Kuntal wields language like a blade and a balm, carving out poetry that is urgent and unafraid to ask what it means to exist.

What does it mean to exist within language—to shape it, and in turn, to be shaped by it? In Night breaks apart, like pomegranate seeds in my palm, Aakriti Kuntal crafts poems that unravel at the edges of self and myth, where language is neither home nor escape, but a threshold to something more elemental. Her verses move like water rolling and sifting through...