There broke into the Tartar sprites,
And they captured my daughter, nice, ...
Poem what poem is that – if
it does not quicken the breath?
- S. Manjunath
Peeping through the slit
In the dark reservoir of my heart ...
A number of crawling survivors.
At least several, perhaps greater...
In its beak, it carries a long lost prophecy
So ominously heavy, it cannot fly high /...
I want it all in a moment
like anyone trying to swallow ...
escape artists ride with outsize plans,
to trip coached stages; rob sperm banks....
What was the thing about crocodiles,
Ray asks, that they talk with their hands ...
if garden slugs
could twist and shine
Silenced forever ...
This is she, Mumbai
Always awake, awakening others, insomniac
My maiden venture into writing plays started with ‘Rains’ and ...
Matthew W Jones