I tied the moon to
a memory like ill fate
to a mast. The moon
still haunts the sea, each day a
bit stranger, a bit distant.
This poem is inspired by a waka poem by Abe no Nakamaro, an eighth century Japanese poet. Nakamaro's poem can be found in 'One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each: A Treasury of Classical Japanese Poets' (Penguin Classics).
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There is a window
A crumpled piece of paper
Would you really know how searingly does injustice burn,
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Over the constant undercurrent of rustling leaves, Biren heard the chirping of birds in the forest die. He took cautious steps towards Ramesh, who sat propped against a tree, bleeding. When he got closer, he found Ramesh motionless.
The bobbing twigs
"Thank God!" Ria let out a sigh of relief as she felt the cool waft escaping the temperature-controlled metro carriage on her face. The door had parted like a mother's embrace, but it became less inviting when the contents of the carriage spilled out, swamping her like slime.
I read
(The poem was first published in Gulmohur Quarterly)
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