Author Archives: Sindhu Sreekumar

Wake me up

How on earth could life be still running its course,
When I still struggle to drag myself
Through my days.
Nothing changes,
They say, ‘change is constant’.
Every day that tends to end with my sleep,
Every morning, that begins with an alarm.
One of these days, my son shocked me out of my shell,
He dared to change the tone of my alarm.
Don’t worry, nothing drastic happened.
It’s back the same old way.
I am not yet awake.
I haven’t yet taken my first step,
To stop them from dumping waste on the road.
The day I do it ,
I live.

Unto the last horizon

I can see my veins
running through the body
from the point they start.
The nerves, my brain!.
I can see all pictures that pass through.
I feel the breath on my face.
Don’t I hear a cricket
and the fan?
Bzzz! There goes a fly.

And I still see all the pictures
through the transparency of my body
and the opaqueness of my body
unto that last horizon
where no horizon remains.
I go!
Not like a man
not like a woman.
A body, mangled up nerves go.
Where spongy clouds float,
and the colours mingle,
fade away
darken dissolves, diffuse disperse
like waves.
Don’t I hear a cricket
and the fan?
Bzzz!. There goes a fly!

‘Sum up, subtract’
That may be the mathematics teacher.
He taught me fear and logic.
5+4=9
2-2=0
I wander
(2) (5) (4) (0)
buzzes around me,
loosing away.
Do I hear a cricket
and the fan?
Bzzz!. There goes a fly!

I lost my way once,
I was four then; no, three!
My mom found me
brought me back
I lost my way once,
once more and
again.
Mom tried again.but…
Mangled up nerves,
A body transparent and opaque!
not man, not woman,
a horizon without limit!
Do I hear a cricket and the fan?
Bzzz!..There goes a fly!

How am I to define you?

The greens form irregular
patterns over the road…
The bright yellow illuminations
break all frontiers,
fade the impressions
of the greens.
Somewhere between
the appearance and the disappearance
the impressions slide
into an apparent invisibility.
Reduced to an awkward gray
they skulk in corners.
Suddenly they shoot up,
then it simply disappears
or does it?
My impressions breathe in
the illuminations and die in it.
Fading and appearing,
Never disappearing
How am I to define you?

Living in the Grayness

Living in the grayness
we rarely find
a darkest black or the purest white
to be the background of
the sprinkled gold or the pool of blue.
Somewhere in the marshiness
the memories and the desires lie.
The dancing network of light
playing the patterns of life
with its tangled nervous system
and tangible dreams.
The puffed clouds melt to form a rainbow.
Thoughts that remain stacked
one upon another
like those tissue papers arranged
in those packets at the hotels
to wipe off dirt, the evidence of what we ate up.
And to be thrown away.
Oh! The due bill!
And to be reminded of the due bill,
to hurry off, fumbling the inside of the purse.
Once in a way we look up
wondering at the whiteness of the clouds.