POETRY: Sneha Subramanian Kanta, Three Poems

​
​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.

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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.'