There is no love. Just the illusion of love to be used and exhausted till the last dregs then trampled and smote with brickbats, thorns, whatever’s handy. The illusion simpers in the gutter Or an asphalt pavement Till it dries…
Music is a heart touching soul That must be enjoyed on the whole. Music is a divine expression of speech Easy for the musicians to teach. Music is a beautiful art Close to everybody’s heart. Music is the one which…
During the rainy days, my brother could sleep at home; he needn’t go to school, he needn’t go to the cornfields to watch out the parrots. He needn’t even go to the vacant fields to play football. He never…
Every moment Take a magazine (anything will do) and throw it out of your window on its spine; watch: how it sways in the free air… Now! Forget it. Now watch: the flutter of its pages as they take wings…
Every moment a plant loses an argument somewhere, when the stem is misunderstood- its intention, articulated at the pedicel: is plucked. Poet’s Bio: Shriram Sivaramakrishnan is an eternal lover of ‘things in between’, roads less travelled, emotions seldom expressed,…
Short story selected for the 2014 New Asian Writing Short Story Anthology Once upon a time there was a red-shirt boy and a yellow-shirt girl. The boy wore the same red shirt every day. It was made of cotton and…
Short story selected for the 2014 New Asian Writing Short Story Anthology Arunima opened her eyes forcibly and looked at the grandpa clock on the wall. It showed quarter past ten on a bright Sunday morning in the month of…
There is at every alley a twist. Then a turn. The alley leads to a house ( not a home). Cats purr, dogs bark and men and women push shovels, decaying remains of a foreboding truth. The one they know…
Two white jars with mustard skirting, mouths shut in muslin layers mounted on either sides of her slender waist carved out of butter Her arms around their necks she climbs to the terrace- the aroma still fresh on her fingers…
I touch their lives superficially On a glossy, the latest on her shelf while I wait for a haircut at the local parlor. “Ma’am please sit” she’d said making me feel divaesque Pointing to a cane sofa while continuing to…
‘Roses are beautiful’ But why do noses wrinkle and tongues wag? ‘Roses are beautiful, thorns are ugly’ say the noses and tongues. ‘What’s a rose without some thorns? Wait a minute, hold that thought Let’s rediscover, thorns are beautiful too’…