Oct 29, 2014

I Haven't Read As Poignant A Poem As This In Awhile-- On India

An Old Woman
by Arun Kolatkar

An old woman grabs
hold of your sleeve
and tags along.
She wants a fifty paise coin.
She says she will take you
to the horseshoe shrine.
You’ve seen it already.
She hobbles along anyway
and tightens her grip on your shirt.
She won’t let you go.
You know how old women are.
They stick to you like a burr.
You turn around and face her
with an air of finality.
You want to end the farce.
When you hear her say,
‘What else can an old woman do
on hills as wretched as these?’
You look right at the sky.
Clear through the bullet holes
she has for her eyes.
And as you look on
the cracks that begin around her eyes
spread beyond her skin.
And the hills crack.
And the temples crack.
And the sky falls
with a plateglass clatter
around the shatter proof crone
who stands alone.
And you are reduced
to so much small change
in her hand.

Oct 8, 2014


It's been such a long time since I wrote, but an amazing friend here in India and I have recently connected on the topic, and he's pushed me to get back into it. Sharing this on the only space I feel comfortable doing so. 


"Last seen today at 19:43"— how damning,
Because it is now a minute past eight p.m.
And I know you’ve read my messages;
The double-ticks gave you away, duuuude.

How did we get swept up in this irrepressible
Tidal wave of emotion, texting, endless
Hoping, waiting, coming and
Going. —I think that’s where this is

Headed...not so much torn asunder as 
Gently separated, not unlike what 
Happens when you add the best, darkly viscous 
Balsamic to a lovely clear green 

Olive oil. —It's now five past, and I'm
Hungry. What for though, seems to be 
A separate inquiry. I can barely process
The nth World Cup heartbreak I suffered last

Night. In the sunlight things always look
Different, clearer, almost--
And I went away so

You wouldn't hear a thing.