Srividya Sivakumar

2
805

Wargame

Speak. Seek. Advance. Retreat. Say a word. A thought or two. Sing for me. You know you want to.
Canoe down the river. Climb up the waterfall. I’ll be here when you get back. Waiting to give it all.
Or maybe I’m not here. I’m deep-sea diving somewhere. I’m searching for coral and abalone deep in the dragon’s lair.
You can wait for a change. It will do you good I think. Tie some reeds together. Swim sure, but don’t sink.
In due time, I shall come back to you. Or you’ll find your way to me. Our bodies will know each other. Our hearts will share the same beat.
Till then, let’s wait awhile. You at this end. Me on my side.
Let’s weave a tune for only two. Don’t call it anything.
No title will do.

Bamboo

A silence so complete that nothing can break it.
Not the slow unfurling of the fern.
Not the soft mulch of moss.
Not the sap making its way to the jungle floor.
The panther’s paw is a feather.
The river slows down and moves sluggish, a satiated python.
The flowers bloom with exquisite stealth. Each petal shy, blushing.
This silence cannot be broken.
The lynx has shadows under its eyes.
The drip drip of dew drops is muted. The rain falls gently hesitant to break the utter quiet in its home.
What demands this silence.
Where does it come from.
Maybe from your head that empties itself of questions.
Or my heart swollen shut with answers.
Perhaps, in the river, buried in low tide, lies the reason.

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is a “wordsmith,” her tools of choice are twenty-six letters and a few punctuation marks. She is a teacher, speaker, columnist and critically-acclaimed poet. Srividya is borderline obsessed with Salman Rushdie, and has a PhD in the images of women in his novels. She lives in Coimbatore, Tamil Nadu.

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