Listen – Jyothsnaphanija, Hyderabad


listenLife is between death and disease

You call it Colosseum inside the epicurean infields.


in the little mornings

we lived in vesicles.

pesticidal thick.

We talked of everything else

except our resemblances.

I was still learning, “Oui, non. désolé”

Parlez quelque chose.

But, you learnt to widen your mouth,

Speaking all the syllables, aspirated.

Nothing was more funnier,

when you try to say “excuse me” in our language.


Summer cotton mango leaves,

Blue icicles, sunflower oil seeds,

Varnished paleness of vapory flowers,

The tardis flying in  the  continents of switching temperatures.



Cold feet crawls along the tapholes

Invisible, like crimson in snowflakes

Clouds in cerulean.

Fizzling light of one ending cheroots,

was enough to make fireflies on the staircase.

We climbed, thinking of baobab.

We returned

When Cannes stars had bronchitis,

The cold wind took a different road

We  should  catch it before it moves to the Love Valley

Share it equally, chew it before it melts.

When I see you again,

I will  insert  my  fairytales in your chimera.

I’ll return again, as a stranger you dye to meet.


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