The Village
of a thousand streams flowing across the marvel land,
a clutter of human establishments
is all that forms this ten-kilometer-long village.
there is something in every corner of this place
so still
it gives you a sense of life.
early morning i hear the footsteps of a vigil guard;
alerting everyone to keep awake
like amidst a hundred neon lights burning,
the sun makes its way
to this sleepy village.
a clutter of orange and yellow scatters
itself in a playful ecstasy.
standing on my terrace,
the morning chides me into a charm of its own.
an old lady with a caste mark on her head
chants shlokas near the tulsi plant
to invoke divine mercy.
she seems sure her voice must be loud enough
to reach up to a place called heaven.
Raju, the most notorious child
here
yet again says he has stomach
ache and won’t go to school.
Raju
Raju, a boy of eight,
is the most playful one around.
he yet has stomach ache
or
so he says to escape
the distasteful school
bell
which rings every half an hour.
the municipal school teacher
besides
doesn’t understand why he looks out of the class window at the beautiful hills
and uses his cane just too hard.
The Milkman
peddling
along in a joyous whirl,
the milkman comes
to our house;
one of the few plush houses in the village
he walks as he always does;
casually
the glint in his eyes say
there is more water in the milk
than yesterday.
Sita and Gita
if you thought
these are two sisters,
pity, you’d be wrong
these are the two cows
in a shed of the village
who do nothing but
eat fodder all day long
below the stretching skies.
The Temple
beggars;
all of them:
women, men, children, the crippled and
eunuchs
welcome me before i can step
inside
this five hundred year old temple.
there is a dim light
which is
gone
before it
is
seen
and i cannot
look at the deity
but pray
before I get more
pushed by the
crowd behind
me.
‘what a dirty pool
of water,’ i exclaimed
to my grandpa
to which he
said that it has
curing powers
or
so said a legend.
a two feet goddess
had blessed this
water with
her own feet.
The priest
clad in a white dhoti,
he mumbles words
i can’t fathom.
do god’s understand
such a complex language?
The Railway station
my paternal aunt is
just to come.
the train is already
half an hour late.
here she is
with a kanchipuram saree
and the nauseous
perfume she always wears
is this strong odor from the
flowers in the head or
the perfume compiled with her sweat?
The Night
calm as calm can be
there is nothing that can be heard in the village
at this hour
except a lonesome dog
barking at the moon.
the static of the air
is as still as still can be
waiting to turn into
yet another
morning.
SNEHA SUBRAMANIAN KANTA holds a Master's degree in English Literature. She is a poet, writer, and works as a professor of English Literature. She also teaches journalism. She has worked in the media as a Sub-Editor with Mid Day Multimedia. Her works have appeared in Chitralipi, New Quest, and Muse India.
of a thousand streams flowing across the marvel land,
a clutter of human establishments
is all that forms this ten-kilometer-long village.
there is something in every corner of this place
so still
it gives you a sense of life.
early morning i hear the footsteps of a vigil guard;
alerting everyone to keep awake
like amidst a hundred neon lights burning,
the sun makes its way
to this sleepy village.
a clutter of orange and yellow scatters
itself in a playful ecstasy.
standing on my terrace,
the morning chides me into a charm of its own.
an old lady with a caste mark on her head
chants shlokas near the tulsi plant
to invoke divine mercy.
she seems sure her voice must be loud enough
to reach up to a place called heaven.
Raju, the most notorious child
here
yet again says he has stomach
ache and won’t go to school.
Raju
Raju, a boy of eight,
is the most playful one around.
he yet has stomach ache
or
so he says to escape
the distasteful school
bell
which rings every half an hour.
the municipal school teacher
besides
doesn’t understand why he looks out of the class window at the beautiful hills
and uses his cane just too hard.
The Milkman
peddling
along in a joyous whirl,
the milkman comes
to our house;
one of the few plush houses in the village
he walks as he always does;
casually
the glint in his eyes say
there is more water in the milk
than yesterday.
Sita and Gita
if you thought
these are two sisters,
pity, you’d be wrong
these are the two cows
in a shed of the village
who do nothing but
eat fodder all day long
below the stretching skies.
The Temple
beggars;
all of them:
women, men, children, the crippled and
eunuchs
welcome me before i can step
inside
this five hundred year old temple.
there is a dim light
which is
gone
before it
is
seen
and i cannot
look at the deity
but pray
before I get more
pushed by the
crowd behind
me.
‘what a dirty pool
of water,’ i exclaimed
to my grandpa
to which he
said that it has
curing powers
or
so said a legend.
a two feet goddess
had blessed this
water with
her own feet.
The priest
clad in a white dhoti,
he mumbles words
i can’t fathom.
do god’s understand
such a complex language?
The Railway station
my paternal aunt is
just to come.
the train is already
half an hour late.
here she is
with a kanchipuram saree
and the nauseous
perfume she always wears
is this strong odor from the
flowers in the head or
the perfume compiled with her sweat?
The Night
calm as calm can be
there is nothing that can be heard in the village
at this hour
except a lonesome dog
barking at the moon.
the static of the air
is as still as still can be
waiting to turn into
yet another
morning.
SNEHA SUBRAMANIAN KANTA holds a Master's degree in English Literature. She is a poet, writer, and works as a professor of English Literature. She also teaches journalism. She has worked in the media as a Sub-Editor with Mid Day Multimedia. Her works have appeared in Chitralipi, New Quest, and Muse India.
