at the railway station

 

 

like Godot I paused to see

the arrival hour. we live full

of pre-occupations of time

in the dark. now shaded

like a painting of Edvard

Munch, I stutter by the dim

pathway that overlooks train

tracks. there is somebody who

awaits me with their anxiety

on the other side but memory

is blue. not sure if Godot is

God as much as the lines over

my palms, destiny. we have all

taken the curvature, aligned

as a full-stop with train smoke.

for this instant, something real

in an unreal city moves. the carcass

of un-being follows in its casket.

 

 

autumn sweepers

 

 

they burned fallen leaves this noon

they have nothing better to do

they smell combinations of harvest

they are acquainted with their job

they sweep the whole town empty

they are fanatics of a local municipality

they play cards every stoic evening

they believe their hands are momentum

they surround stretches of ignored roads

they have come again this year, for autumn.

 

 

Twilight

 

 

Formless in sleets of pink smeared
Roughness, of pale blue metamorphosis,
In layers of black; peering pensive
Past hours.

Seeming primal spaces as Byzantine
Architecture, remade with weathering
That draw with pencil severity and
Expunge with pale smoothness: Which
belong to a language discovered by
Ruffled flannel like waves;
Heightening and in lowly tides, where
The moon distills its shimmering luster
In the slant fillings of rain in an echoing
Ocean of reverberations.

In descending oblique lines patterned
Across skies while dry winds whisper
Through unrelenting grasses. These spots
Of infinities over one plain horizon burst
Into fragments. Shadows rise at evening,
In finality strokes of the hour. When the
Smoke from chimneys have passed far end
Linings, the farthermost border of a town.

The dooryards, in warm and cold weather
Insulation; thread like hold smithereens
Together. Distillation on white canvas
Compass residuals of vestigial nuance,
Teetering as spirituous neoclassical.

 


Sneha Subramanian Kanta is a GREAT scholarship awardee and reads for a second postgraduate degree in literature in England. Her poem ‘At Dusk With the Gods’ won the Alfaaz (Kalaage) prize. She is co-founder of Parentheses Journal, a collaborative venture that straddles hybrid genres across coasts and climes. She is also the poetry editor for Counterclock. Her work is forthcoming in infinite space, Calamus Journal, Door Is A Jar and elsewhere.

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published.