I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading – treading – till it seemed That Sense was breaking through – And when they all were seated, A Service, like a Drum – Kept beating – beating – till I thought My mind was going numb – And then I […]
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain by Emily Dickinson Read More »
My Grandmother’s House There is a house now far away where once I received love……. That woman died, The house withdrew into silence, snakes moved Among books, I was then too young To read, and my blood turned cold like the moon How often I think of going There, to peer through blind eyes of
My Grandmother’s House by Kamala Das Summary and Analysis Read More »
In The Bazaars of Hyderabad What do you sell O ye merchants ? Richly your wares are displayed. Turbans of crimson and silver, Tunics of purple brocade, Mirrors with panels of amber, Daggers with handles of jade. What do you weigh, O ye vendors? Saffron and lentil and rice. What do you grind, O ye
In the Bazaars of Hyderabad by Sarojini Naidu Summary and Analysis Read More »
Narcissus Last night the shadows chased me And the wintermoon screamed in my ears Ah Calcutta, I could not sleep. I watched Your silent city weave A tapestry of poems, songs, dead roses And a pair of deep brown eyes. I saw A thousand gipsy summers Ride down Midnight avenue I travelled National highway 37
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Night of the Scorpion I remember the night my mother was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours of steady rain had driven him to crawl beneath a sack of rice. Parting with his poison – flash of diabolic tail in the dark room – he risked the rain again. The peasants came like swarms of
Night of the Scorpion by Nissim Ezekiel Summary and Analysis Read More »
Our Casuarina Tree LIKE a huge Python, winding round and round The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars, Up to its very summit near the stars, A creeper climbs, in whose embraces bound No other tree could live. But gallantly The giant wears the scarf, and flowers are hung In crimson clusters all the boughs
Our Casuarina Tree by Toru Dutt Summary and Analysis Read More »
Father, when he passed on, left dust on a table of papers, left debts and daughters, a bedwetting grandson named by the toss of a coin after him, a house that leaned slowly through our growing years on a bent coconut tree in the yard. Being the burning type, he burned properly at the cremation
Obituary by A.K. Ramanujan Read More »
And every year the Ghaghra changes course turning over and over in her sleep. In the afternoon she is a grey smudge exploring a grey canvas. When dusk reaches her through an overhang of cloud she is overstewed coffee. At night she is a red weal across the spine of the land. Driving at dusk
The Ghagra In Spate By Keki N. Daruwalla Read More »
the tarpaulin flaps are buttoned down on the windows of the state transport bus. all the way up to jejuri. a cold wind keeps whipping and slapping a corner of tarpaulin at your elbow. you look down to the roaring road. you search for the signs of daybreak in what little light spills out of
The Bus by Arun Kolatkar Read More »
A low temple keeps its gods in the dark. You lend a matchbox to the priest. One by one the gods come to light. Amused bronze. Smiling stone. Unsurprised. For a moment the length of a matchstick gesture after gesture revives and dies. Stance after lost stance is found and lost again. Who was that, you
A Low Temple by Arun Kolatkar Read More »