Tuesday, August 16, 2022

Poetry

Burn

If ever

Love, Catalogued

Cartography

The Grind

Resurrection

Stalking Prisons

Pande-mourning

You cry.You postA photographOn your Whatsapp StatusYou send offA scurry of WhatsappMessagesTo potential mourners.You gloatOn your movability.You writeA cathartic tributeOn LinkedIn.You hashtagThe mourned.You agonise...

A night to remember

Stay up all night with me for once, I say Don’t complain we have work the very next day Step out and behold the magic of...

Burn

One day when I'm dead I'll be alive is how they put it at church and Sunday School and sometimes I believe and sometimes I don't and...

If ever

If ever my shadows leave me, and I'll know that tomorrow it will, I will plant some mango trees for the people, I'd leave my hefty will. If...

Love, Catalogued

What they said of love was functional and dyslexic. Love got us wrapped up in one blanket, sleep patterns waiting to shift. We cried about death – of people not known; of people known;  of...

Cartography

Behind the neck where thoughts bloom a birthmark maps an ocean. There, a kiss evaporates into the salty wind. Two exiled bodies meet in the blue meridian. Though weary their bodies and...

The Grind

(Third Floor)A nonchalant company label,Atop the elevator panel reads“Committed to people flow.” I descend, to a lower level.Shoulders stoop, the diaphragm allows,Some discontent to uneasily...

Resurrection

i have arrived at my altar. hark! i rise, i flourish, i pirouette on my one toe and float like a prayer. this is my triumph; the...

Stalking Prisons

The streets are empty with no one in sight, I check the big clock of the tower behind the basilic of Saint Francis of Assisi. It’s 2 o’clock on a mid-summer Tuesday afternoon. Everything’s shut. Everyone’s resting. My heart’s hitting the walls of its all so tight ribcage, as I need to cross the brightly lit square and go to the other side.

Her Dead Alive Octopus

I caught upon an uncanny creature,Amidst a fish vending street.Like the ghostly alien hands,Its spooky limbs shined in the summerish streak. “Snap up some dried...

Contribute to Indian Ruminations

Dear Reader,
Indian Ruminations for over a decade has been showcasing new perspectives, ideas, opinions and styles in the domain of English Literature. Since February, this year, Indian Ruminations has been bringing up authentic non–fiction content abiding by the highest standards of journalism. But today all we request you is to help us thrive further and live longer and to keep fresh ideas alive. A small monetary contribution from you helps us to keep serving you with quality content as we have always done.
Here’s to Our Ruminations!

DONATE NOW

spot_img