Anamika (Nameless): A Poem

By S. Rupsha Mitra

I am traipsing down the narrow labyrinth of the dusky streets, 

The incarnadine colours of the horizon blazing

 As braziers nested in the hem of sky, 

I am dipped in the sour taste of existential introspection, 

My body knotted, tainted in the lemon aureole. Once again

 My throat tastes of ashen smoke, 

A flame rising somewhere within, tinged scars erupting as lava 

 From the bosom of skin,

 What is it that I transform into, this nameless nihility 

Graciously inhibiting my expression of own,

I am nameless, devious, pondering unidentified, 

Blued in an alcove of perplexing grime, 

Suddenly reclaimed by the silent woods,

 The fettered quest pressed somewhere against my chest, 

Efflorescing free like a resuscitation. Slipping in and out 

Of the chiaroscuro

 Of id’s visages, personas rummaging themselves in the mounds 

Of the mind’s phases, the splayed solidified bareness

 Of the body gives in to the ferment of molten times, 

Answering the deepest ambiguities of the self, in 

This gradual drifting, fading

 Into the carnal, soothing breath of the purpling immensity of night. 

Meet the Writer

S. Rupsha Mitra is a student from India with a penchant for everything creative. Her writing can be found in literary magazines like Birmingham Arts Journal, North Dakota Quarterly, and Mekong Review. Discover her latest books, poems, and essays on her website.