Browsing All Posts filed under »Poetry«

133

November 18, 2015

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Habitat: A billowing of curtain A bloom of tissues A breeze of newspapers A dock of dishes The babble of kettle A whistle of window pane Eddies of fallen hair A gurgling washing machine A clap of laughter A meadow of books Crags of peeling paint A thicket of socks A tree of tired jackets A sunset of dust A marsh of spent tea-leaves An autumn […]

A Hundred and Nine

September 21, 2012

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Cotton candy aftermaths. Slippery notes of 10. The prickle of stranger on a bus. Inevitability between man and woman. Static of silk and belly. The vase that got away. Etchings of brassiere straps. Calluses for absent play. 11AM sun of winter mornings. Bites of new E-string. The lure of knife’s edge. Wetness inside a ring. […]

A Hundred and Eight

September 8, 2012

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In the season of presidential nominations, I’m running for a few designations – Writer. Poet. Photographer. Professional describer of feelings. High-intensity leer-evaporator. Smasher of nonsense ceilings. DF Wallace Quote Generator. Multiple bell-jar defeatist. The Antoinette of Drama Queenery. The Nilgiri winds of eye-mist. The atlas of all the right spots. Perpetual leaver of aunties aghast. […]

A Hundred and Four

July 27, 2012

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Clad in gossamer salwaars, Ponytailed hair tumbling in ghosts of school-plait cascades, Dupattas folded with indecision – A stiff V, like in the heart of conservative? An elaborate arrangement to shade modesty? Wound around the neck, an emulation of favourite liberal aunts? Or an incidental billowing sail, that, who knows, will steer to first and […]

Ariel View

March 15, 2012

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I’m not half a woman, I’m mostly sea. I’m not half a woman, I don’t need legs to complete me. I’m not an almost-whole Marilyn, Underground rails billowing my dresses, Haute couture of where I come from Is mostly sea-shell bras, and floating tresses. Come, live below sea- Level with me, Where there’s no doing […]

Travel

October 17, 2011

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Our meeting begins At the valleys of your fingers. I squint, At the sunlight that squeezes between them. I look at the map, And find no way around the lines of your palms. Of course, I’m too proud to ask for directions. I trudge on, Dodging your fault lines, Climbing, Conquering, Your mound of Venus. […]

Ninety Two

August 11, 2011

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Ma, Please don’t wash my blanket. I want the smell of balm still on it. I know you think I should move on, But I want that smell Not to remind me of pain, But to remind me, of inevitable healing. I want its memory altered, To remember each nook of my body, How to […]