Power Cuts

 

It’s eleven p.m as we pause, our video-call for a rest,

the power will be severed in your place

for about an hour – a ritual these days you say;

for the people of your village to walk on their terrace,

counting the stars and acknowledge the changing climate........

https://www.wordsandwhispers.org/home/power-cut

Tubers (For Joe)

 

My friend from the city, calls to warn, 

to not serve him boiled tapiocas when he comes home. 

Yes, I agree cassava cannot be an item of lavish taste, 

but I wonder who could say no, 

to those lovely tubers shaken freshly from earth, 

with the dampness of life still sticking to its sides 

like a cloak and the smell of rain, 

the nascent of mountain rains holding in them, 

as if it has stocked all the monsoons for this sudden introduction to light.

https://danielle-adams.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/09/The-Sunshine-Review-Issue-3.pdf

Ode to Peach Fuzz

O Guardians of my sinned sin!
Like a permanent tattoo of rain,
you have streaked boundaries on my face...........

https://www.westtrestlereview.com/west_trestle_joanna-george.html

The Pulse Fritters

I combine the cooked green gram

and shreds of coconut

in hot syrup of jaggery to form small pulse balls.

They blend easily, uniformly,

reminding me, the way we were made to eat pills,

by dissolving in flavored syrups –

strawberry or honey or sugar

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1LOUQyxNDoEK5M5hNAlUbT1faEvXXg_4X/view

Love Letters

 

Most of those evenings after school, I am welcomed home

with her regular snack

these thin dosas, wheat or maida, based on costs;

a mixture of jaggery and coconut stuffed inside,

and their corners ritualistically folded to an envelope;

concealing the content inside from the world outside to a scroll,

or a flattened square, from the pan to plate......

https://rhodoramagazine.in/

An Evening at the Marina Beach

Behind the bleak silhouetted-

line of shops on the beach road of Chennai;

the sun launched its descent,

her true colors leaking behind the landscape,

enticing every artist’s strolling soul,

capturing their wandering feet of desire under her spell.

The warmth stays still,

mesmerized by the tangerine sun

making its way into frames and pages

filling every blanks the color of a faded henna stain.....

https://rhodoramagazine.in/

An Ode to Southern Railways Tea

An ode to the drink we share, I write;
No, not the Starbucks 100 rupee coffee, we never drank
Nor for the bitter CCDs we chose, I write this ode.
But, to that five rupee tea,
on every station of the railway track, you find.........

https://literaryjournal.in/index.php/clri/article/view/386/907