O butterflies of the mustard fields! Reach me And teach me Your secret of happiness. I wait for you, o butterflies Of the Spring to reach me In the balcony from the Golden mustard fields. I can see you Flutter, frolic and frisk Over the gardens of yellow And down to the shrub-engulfed cho* That’s…
It is a fast-paced world, I understand. But it is not foolish enough to digest a half-cooked work. The thought is striking me after a rush of ebooks on multiple online platforms that I had to go through in search of information. I was astonished by the way the ebooks were listed randomly on these…
‘Let the grand ritual begin of paying a visit to the victim’s family.’ ‘The parents must be in grief. The only daughter died at night. The body swung loose from the nylon noose. A mysterious note was left behind placed under the cellphone on the window sill visible directly from the door way.’ ‘Let…
Sunken in the mire of grief– in the radius of a funeral place surrounded like a prisoner from all sides with the barren-broken hills– an ex-armyman, distressed and doleful, kept on sitting on a rock by the algae water pond, even when all kins had returned to the hustle. Did he mourn the departure…
Ethnic voices need to find more stronger a place in today’s literature written in any language (mainly in English) in India. While a lot has improved in the last decade that gave India a new crop of authors especially in English, the time is around to take it to another level by merging English in…
Never shall I preach love! Never shall I speak love! Never shall I look into your flimsy eyes, Crystallised, covered with contact lenses. Never shall I hold your fake hand That swiftly went for a diamond ring from a trader’s boy. Never ever shall I show you my face! Lied you on every occasion,…
My friend uploaded a pic Of a train-beheaded man With words superimposed at the bottom ‘Will Meet You, Love, in Afterlife’. ‘Who’s that girl he’s dead for?’ I typed in the comment box. My Facebook buddies hopped on To set my pulse racing With the volley of absurd quickies. ‘It’s blind love, dear.’ ‘Did the…
A poetess (Cheryl Dumesnil) was recently asked as to what excites her most when she reads poetry. And what she replied was “I love sound, complicated sound. When the sound is used to amplify the meaning of the poem, I can’t get enough of that.” That’s what my grudge is when I read novice poets…
O S scribbles... 