Confiding with a Hen
“I like to write poetry because when I read a good poem, it makes me feel good and I smile. I would like to make other people feel good too.”
Young Poets
Thaathaa
My papa’s papa used to run after the wooden cart of prasadam
each dawn for food
Young feet bleeding over the rough road.
The Bellbird
The full moon, glowing at dusk,
and the audacious bellbird is calling out from his tree,
so small yet so loud.
A Cut-up Mango
Cutting into the deep of this fruit, sweet and sour, just like nostalgia,
you reach to an ending point: meeting at the middle, a pit.
Flat. Long. And spread out. Thin. People usually slice it.
When the Monsters Come Out
Nighttime is when the monsters come out,
With their claws and their jaws
That gnash all about.
Death Untouched, Death Crooning
My mother says
Her dog visited her in her dream,
The night it died. Death is a tragedy till you can’t go back.