Project Kohl Rivers
Map of moles, same prints of a hanging disease:
where breath is, there will be rupture —
a night you thought growing in your body
tremors in limbs unmaking world’s circle
lines with dreams of the rose-window
same as hands of morning of mine sunk in
vessels of porridge, of wheat of life staring away —
infected eye without a poem: our poetry.
These branches before snow, always waiting.
Rupture, V Paliwal
On the work of Nasreen Mohamedi