beige and blue the beak of a bird touches water. in the belly of the Indian ocean the tides are calm today. waves form foam and sounds white material residues the clasp oncoming sharp memory folds in the old. a feather is left in the sand eternal skeletons of mollusks left behind. seashells, full of calcium carbonate the mineral of waters. the nest, flashing around the pulse of sand fine footprints filled with reverberations of life. contextual under umbrellas of positioning a person under the rubric of a sphere and a double-headed dragon with fire in his mouth falls into a pit of darkness and tugs at its black hair and the whiteness of shame it hangs it hangs it hangs within the underbelly of emphatic resounding nothingness. Communication Disclosure I. There was a crumpled paper which lay on the table with a dark wood finish (Made from the bark of a rosewood tree). "What are you thinking?" "Thinking, nothing." "There is a lunch get together this Sunday." Something the lack of an answer explained. The synthetic perfume perforated the room. "Did you hear her husband just lost his job?" "My neighbors cat ran away somewhere." "This pearl necklace is of freshwater pearls." "The rain always spoils my silken dress." II. (By now, Romeo stood beneath Juliet's balcony.) "Are you reading Shakespeare again?" Quietude pervaded and I continued reading in a corner. Guests came and went through the narrow passages flippantly, asking questions and not waiting for answers. (As though their questions were asked for the sake of questions being asked; for no answer.) Under artificial lighting, the moths played. "Hurry up, don't you want to be among the first in line for the buffet?". They lined up like a string of ants around a giant anthill. III. "They made an April fool's joke and he was fooled." "That chap would not know of forced rudeness." "The entire office was laughing about his - O salad." "Iceberg lettuce leaves and tomatoes again." "I had told her to keep the romaine and butterhead." "The cutlets have less crunch and the ketchup is soggy." "This chocolate soufflé has saved the show." The sounds and fury that passed lingered in the banquet hall. IV. "Are you still taking those birth control pills?" "Did you see he has purchased a new automobile?" "Automated brakes". The grin on their faces increased. (The sounds of horns increased as the cars lined, one by one.) I was among forks and spoons and silvery plates alone against the entire crowd pressed together. "Are you still reading Romeo and Juliet?" (They had both died by then.) The night bed had red sails and I walked in the company of a solitary lane, the south-west wind and tall trees. ABOUT THE POET
'Sneha Subramanian Kanta finds credence in non-linear forms of looking. Avant-garde art, untold stories and tales of refugees are matters close to her heart. Her work is forthcoming in Fallujah Magazine, ZOOPOETICS, Serendipity, Erstwhile Magazine and the first print anthology of Peacock Journal and elsewhere. She is a GREAT scholarship awardee, pursuing her second postgraduate degree in literature in the United Kingdom. She believes in forms of dissents and uprisings, renaissance, handwritten letters and the word et cetera.'
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