It seems this new house has always been here, this loose soil, ready for me, some visitors carrying souvenirs, like good friends opening their soft arms, waiting since a long time. Perhaps I should now sow my routine here, be patient, for it will take a few summer noons to learn the way from old …
The Garden of Surrender
The longer I live, the more I turn to nature for the deepest lessons. No, I’m not trying to be Mary Oliver but I cannot deny her role in turning me both inward and closer to nature. This story starts in June when I began packing my house for the umpteenth time (the exact number …
THINGS I CANNOT CROCHET
I haven't crocheted for over a year now. I was only a beginner but gave up too soon. May be I should try just one more time. THINGS I CANNOT CROCHET winter noons traded for coinsselling your greensto random passers by cindrella shoes from your Paris haulworn untilthey pinched tiny wars between us,your nudgespricking myteenage …
Boxes for Writers
Dear Reader One of you messaged that Because I Cannot Be Spring brought tears to your eyes. Thank you, I’m only glad it made you feel something. Many-a-time I’ve held a poem so close because it says everything I cannot. Yes, sometimes even writers need the words of another—a comrade, a friend, an acquaintance, a …
A Hot Noon in the Hills
Dear Reader Today's poem takes after a prompt by Alt Poetry who discussed Kamala Das' poems during their recent offline meet in Bangalore. It is a response to her poem, A Hot Noon in Malabar. The prompt was to have a similar title and be inspired. I read the poem closely and hence my response …
A Writing Room
Dear Reader, I don’t have a poem today. While poem-ing has been my main occupation this month (from reading to writing verses), I am not much of a routine-person. It’s not a concept I enjoy. Being this way brings its own share of miseries, but not being this way will perhaps bring an unfathomable agony. …
