A GREAT scholarship awardee, Sneha Subramanian Kanta is pursuing her second postgraduate degree in England. A dedicated scholar of postcolonial literature, her work is forthcoming in Diaphanous Press, Shot Glass Journal, Brickplight and elsewhere.
I was Ahilya
standing by the Jhelum
out-stretched were landscapes
of shikaras and
a forlorn post office.
Nobody has come here
since many yesterdays
the two rupee note is
archaic, and safely ignored.
Baba tells me this is kalyug –
saints won’t open their eyes,
nor will the world resurrect;
while I play with a white dove.
Two Ships Sail at Night
Far from the distance I watch through
the moonbeam be-speckled window the
Two ships glide over the silvered oceanic
waters and time ceases to exist in the wide
expanse of this metaphoric existence called
Though distant they are, the glow of night
smears the candled-wax moon firmament
and dances as open lines of turquoises
How many moments of darkness are there
in this one life, and how they encounter on
a daily basis ― still there is silence to then
We must be the two ships as figurative
language may have our semblances: cut out
in the folds of night, while murmuring our
When death comes in the fortitude of a dark
yellow day, abstractions of purple and blue
of this midnight our paths begin will linger
The literary legacy was borne by no torchbearers: they were
all the same. Held upon the backbone of curfew and war,
hybrid in their essence of regions they went through. Or
the Dravidian invasion was part-meeting — though humans
deconstruct everything as war. Pertinent fear in their eyes,
swallowing the ramshackle of camps and contingencies
on the threshold of everyday death.