Category Archives: vignettes

question

Things happen slowly The turning wheel is only a notch In the spiral I asked the stone If it remembered How the sun drenched Its sleep And it showed me the forest and a childhood of falling things When the … Continue reading

Posted in #poemaday, ananth, beauty, Could be verse, epiphany, forest, hmmm, nasha, nature, vignettes | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

aranya #7:the artist’s workshop

There is a place deep in the heart of the forest. it is a silent grove. an oasis. a place where time is forgotten. a place of magic. of heresy. of wild desire. It is aranya’s workshop. The artist sits … Continue reading

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aranya #6: the beginning

The evening sat on its haunches. at her feet. Her mind was baavra. never stopping. flying from this ghaat to the other. a nomad without a home. or everywhere, a home. everywhere she roamed in the forest. The evening lay … Continue reading

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aranya #3: drought

I listened to her song. It was the colour of solitude. Like a dusty sliver of light in the gathering darkness. Manasa, the spider, knew when the heavens would be benevolent. She had saved a drop from yesterday’s rain. She was … Continue reading

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Beginnings

They passed their misery around And fueled it Each affirmation was a drop Of life in the seed’s turning Into stem There was no drama As it floundered through Into the the day The most intimate impulse As tune is to … Continue reading

Posted in #poemaday, angryfix, epiphany, five words, Music, One Bad Day, poetry, the apocalyptic real, Uncategorized, vignettes, why? | Leave a comment

Rapporteur

I’ve watched black rain sow its seeds in fields of tarpaulin. pollinate the slum roofs with the manna of kali’s blood. and the angry gods in them come laughing out of blue urchin tongues. poverty’s a bitch, yo. I’ve watched … Continue reading

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the hook beside the fan

the hook beside the fan runs incarnadine like your eyes turning red with the green smoke of memories masquerading as dance in our paranoid conversations in our soot black minds our black tongues magnified on walls with kites that hold … Continue reading

Posted in ananth, beauty, Bombay, City, Could be verse, epiphany, hmmm, I want to ride my bicycle, It is written, kaha gaye woh din, Lou, Music, nasha, night, nostalgia, picture abhi baaki hain mere dost, poetry, the apocalyptic real, vignettes | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment