Swatch of human feeling

A swatch of human feeling torn from old jeans, ragged, washed and cheap like Ma’s scalded fingertips from serving hot milk, to her hungry kids. We lived in a house with no dimensions, on the edge of destiny’s demise. We were fed. We were happy. We tried to be. We wished to say our piece.… Continue reading Swatch of human feeling

Dirty dishes…

Dirty dishes broken tea cups festering laundry a husband's barbs an untimely death the rituals in its wake pooja fasting a son's neglect a daughter helpless abandoned, dreamless mother worries that she worries too much but I see her when she calls no one yet cries over the phone in irregular sobs and tears worth… Continue reading Dirty dishes…

A short poem in a book of verses my father wrote…

There is a poem in the book of verses my father wrote for his mother as she lay dying a thousand kilometers away from him in the cancer ward of an hospital plagued not with the disease but the longing for sleep and some rest at the finale of a life that didn't say a… Continue reading A short poem in a book of verses my father wrote…