8/8/2016 Three poems by Sneha Kantathe spice night held ~ I rested in the cypress like shade of the cloudless sky, and the glistening sea beckoned rest. The thermostat of blackness shivered through a warm pungency in the air. My eyelids were swollen of nightmares, when I woke at an hour whose time was not known; and sand caressed my toes with ardor. the dusty midnight soliloquies looked for him -- earth, sky and sea. a moment so profound, silence had a sound of vast emptiness stored in its vessel. The reckless hour passed like a stroke of lightning, and dark purple clouds arranged themselves such; the sky grew heavier. Girls like me were nomads of the world that nobody stopped for a second to understand. Before the crack of dawn, there was rain. in stillness There I was again, at the shore, and looked at the vast sea bent upon mending its own form, in its fluidity. The world was on one side, and I stood on another cliff, watching the sun prepare to set: that was the perpetual symbol of nearness and living. The distance between the inhabitants of the world and me increased after sundown: their perennial motion was stoic, unlike the movement in my motionless decorum. to dance in chaos, to touch ― dried leaves as i fall, was the order. The sea changed like an avalanche aftermath; the high tides grew with the fullness of the moon. I gathered like an alone rock, transmuted by shimmering moonbeams; I was a storm in the entity of fibers I held within that nothing could calm. The sea called me close and tranquility enlarged its measurement to fit my disposition. I lay on the golden sand and soaked its granules, the salty drizzle from the sea and the purlin of the moon. I was to lay alone at this spot and slumber, over the vast stretch of its circumference. the veil ~ I take long walks alone and intently watch scenes ahead of the road alter, that submerge me into whichever season it is. I lose all concept of time and gain a wordless understanding of things, within and without. I am here now: near the ruins that appear highlighted with the changing architectures of the sun. Something finite brushes through the ruins to reconstruct them into a different shape, as traversals of eras take their courses. I gaze at the vast ocean and the line of mountains on the other side, and my eyes drift, looking for him. how the sky lifts its veil for the sun to show its face. I am here, I am here. I have to remind the kernel of my heart, to breathe and to sustain its substance. The sea is my forgetting and remembering. Bio: Sneha Subramanian Kanta is a poet, critic and writer. She believes in poetry being a form of dissent and is intrigued by unspoken words that vocabularies cannot define and believes in a world with no borders. She has taught undergraduate students literature and has also been an Assistant Editor at Charnwood Arts, United Kingdom. Postcolonial literature and literary theory and criticism are her areas of research interest. You can write to her at [email protected] Comments are closed.
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