Blacksmiths re-arrange

silken threads

Tailors forge


Where do you form, irony, to then become formless?

What whistles these are, from disintegrated yokes afar?

Fourteenth century subjugation, still prepared for trade

A hankering globe feeds on soluble and insoluble fibre,

O prodigal atoms of billowy attestation.



An undulant weather is characteristic of rectified revisions

Continents and natural components perish simultaneously,

What well behaved skin of decorum, unwatched, undresses?

A lexicographer could coat tribes in cycles of gestations


Hence sap inside barks must be both; reminders and properties

The wonder, a superficial matter camouflage of damp interiors,

What perishes,

cartouches of

Ancient pharaohs

say geologists.



Now, I will listen to them through mutations of my speech,

I will unlearn their ghastly spells when graveyards un-disguise,

Bleak moments

odorless air

practised inception

creation born.

The world communicates, where were you born, are headed to?

Leaves stiffen as they are spread out on bare grounds, everyplace —

These fitful events.



The exact value who can decipher? Value vexes fathomless froth.

Death descends upon a clear birthed moment while it undrapes

The broadcloth

over a carcass,

peruse discarded

companions and boots,

Death fetches and encourages filtered fibres of breaths.


Sneha Subramanian Kanta

Sneha Subramanian Kanta is pursuing her second postgraduate degree in literature at the United Kingdom and has been awarded the GREAT scholarship. Her work has appeared or is to appear in Ann Arbor Review (MI, USA), The Rain, Party & Disaster Society (USA) and in poetry anthologies such as Dance of the Peacock (Hidden Brook Press, Canada), Suvarnarekha (The Poetry Society of India, India) and elsewhere.

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