Jyothy Sreedhar

In the wind, the light pages in my calendar fly up,turn next and last, and give a scrambled view.

My first taste was that of my mother's breast... My first touch was her skin ere I opened my eyes...

The season changes. The tar of showers scratches into the clouds. With my branches, I can touch the black.

The sky is concealed and I love black. I hear the taps of raindrops drizzling down from yesters…

I don’t write when I am happy. I tend to laugh it out, And imbibe the tears that roll

GOD, STAY THERE. (Parallax impeded.) You have the trial today.

Excuses subside. The gambling of diaspora. Each place is an imagined solace where peace sojourns… just sojourns.

My shadow departs. I forbear. To all my questions

A dream wakes me up. Confusion. It oozes out the last drop

Priorities break away. The option remains. In the verge of decay,

arely these windows get opened. Now it is such another time… A small branch which my mother gave

Memories scramble over the tenses I use. Past, present, future… all become the same At some point of a simple grammar mistake.

I’ve written so much! O God, it’s really too much! My emotions, my frustrations,

Thunder! May it be a nuance of the syllabic silence in femaleness

This day, the sun turns black to herald the shine on the other zenith.

Hear my right person, my driver! You lead me through my roads and drive for me my turnings.

I was like that moon then, alone in the dark. The stars blinked, my wait was tranquil. I got withered away with every snor of earth.

Oh, my friend! What’s death that scares you and sets your heart’s mighty sun!

Statue! The earth gets stuck for a minute. The clouds are still.

For this was on seynt Volantynys day Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make. [For this was Saint Valentine’s Day,

The cool palm of this rain drew some sweet picture on my forehead…

Death is the ultimate equalizer that puts end to the unequalled destinies, to the unequalled construction of living bodies,

“Passed aeons, since we spoke the last” I scrawled it in the wall that is raised between us,

The temple celebrates grace. The hard rocks are there in the centre, called idols. Gold ornaments adorn those black structures.

Against the common, My emotions will speak dangers.

With the smoke whirling up from the hot pages of my diary, a nude face shows up, expressions torn off.