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Sitting in a theatre, mostly empty.
Perhaps this is how I like films.
From the front row. The screen
eating me. No commentary.
But not silent.
Exactly how life should be perhaps.
Front row, clean, with space.
But not empty enough to be creepy.
And perhaps a warm (even if clammy)
hand. To hold. Tighter when it’s time.
And Exit signs clearly marked.
Even in [...]
Posted on August 31st, 2009 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Photographs, Poetry and Fiction | 13 Comments »
At the holy river, by the ghats,
Mother sheds her usual shame.
She wears her black petticoat.
Her numerous sins. And little else.
The little one is asked to join.
For even at six, one has aleady -
stolen, lied, kissed and cheated.
Her father guards the clothes.
Dirt sticks to her tiny feet.
But she is told that this is holy.
The river, the [...]
Posted on August 15th, 2009 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Photographs, Poetry and Fiction | 18 Comments »
We look up, and see Shiva.
In this form, he looks different.
He is cherubic. With fatty thighs.
A belly, unrestrained. Full of milk.
And what bulges like pure butter.
(Perhaps they wanted Krishna?)
What would a child destroy?
Small things. Irrelevant things.
Broken easily. Available in plenty.
Like little glass tumblers. Or
nibs of ink pens. And random
nameless hearts, already fragile.
Posted on July 7th, 2009 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Photographs, Poetry and Fiction | 14 Comments »
Outside the cocoon
Of this meandering train
(to Manchester)
It rains on sheep and fields
Slashing their souls,
on the window pane.
They slide on the glass,
a vertical dance
of droplets with tails.
I think then that they
look like sperm.
Wagging their ends
Swimming and vanishing.
The wanker up above
is, in fact,
responsible for the rain.
Posted on June 10th, 2009 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Photographs, Poetry and Fiction | 12 Comments »
Without a room. Or money.
The two of them, attempt to
find refuge, from the summer,
and for their ever-lusting love.
The city parks are infested.
With lovers. Insects. And
fat, moustached constables.
In the heat, the waves of hot air.
The heart swells, like a phulka.
The old man, a mild pervert
watches the lovers squirm.
He sighs, shaking his head.
At the foolishness of the [...]
Posted on May 14th, 2009 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Poetry and Fiction | 10 Comments »
Please let it be, that it’s a joke,
played perfectly on April first.
Because standing at a bus stop,
I see a couple, breaking up.
Even in the dim moody light,
of a streetlamp, and the headlights,
of various cars hurrying home.
They look beautiful. Together.
But she takes one bus.
He’s waiting for another.
He sort of sighs and catches,
my eye and my bus.
Gets [...]
Posted on April 1st, 2009 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Poetry and Fiction | 9 Comments »
This is how we must love,
like a child on a swing.
Tethered to nothing,
but the constant rhythm
of movement. To and fro.
We meet like this,
every once in a while.
A sandpit to save us.
Even if should fall.
Which we will. Ultimately.
Posted on March 21st, 2009 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Poetry and Fiction | 14 Comments »
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