Thursday 5 November 2015

1 Poem by Poornima Laxmeshwar


From my window
I see the orange circle
Escape in a blue quilt
Quietly without leaving any traces of its existence

In the frameless sky the group of parakeets shriek
Converse in haste
In those scarlet beaks
They gather the dust of the restless city
With those tiny emerald wings
They move like a floating cloud

Fly to where they belong
As the night gets ready for the performance
With make-up of neon lights, blaring music, endless pegs of vodka
I sit staring from my window
Looking at the reflection
Of my lonely night
Darkness, the flowing river
Shallow as my being

There is no conversation
No sense of belonging
Just the same I
And this unread book of your poetry


Poornima Laxmeshwar resides in the garden city Bangalore and works as a content writer for a living. Her poems have appeared in Vayavya, Reading Hour, Writers Asylum, The Aerogram, Stockholm literary review, and are forthcoming in Northeast review and Brown Critique. Her haiku have found space in several magazines like Frogpond, Hundred gourds, BottleRocket, Under the Basho and others.

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