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templesandfortsofindia.wordpress.com

2016-11-16-3735-01 – A photographer's diary

https://templesandfortsofindia.wordpress.com/2016/11/24/kuldhara/2016-11-16-3735-01

A photographer's diary. Notes towards making of photo-images. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out. Notify me of new comments via email. I and The Body. Poetry of the moment.

pogamanchu.wordpress.com

Mapping our space – Fog

https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2016/12/19/mapping-our-space

December 19, 2016. December 19, 2016. A fine warm line goes forward, in a single track and then loops and turns us toward the sky as if the earth were sky with our footprints missing or erased willfully by winds. We first map country homes with electric poles and the abandoned substations with bat-homes. We then enter casuarina trees in their tall homes. Beyond them is a rise of the sea with no map, only a dull ocean sound for our cartography. Canada is immigrant’s map of a maple leaf. A low hanging fruit.

pogamanchu.wordpress.com

The steadfast canine – Fog

https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2016/12/13/the-steadfast-canine

December 13, 2016. The sun is up above a winter breeze , in gray clouds. A silky brown dog is tugging at a master’s leash ,generally curious about wayside grass. In Melbourne the sun rose five hours ago in WhatsApp . The sun might have got into the metro, holding gleaming handrails. Here, in my mornings I have poetry words stuck from desultory readings in the cyber wastes. Straggler words do make a poem or two and bring up a gleaming image from the bottom of night. A low hanging fruit. You are commenting...

pogamanchu.wordpress.com

Good bones – Fog

https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2017/01/01/good-bones

January 1, 2017. January 1, 2017. The loved one’s bones cannot be all that good when in the clay-pot. The clay-pot cannot be all that good if hurled in mid-waters, with a promise not to turn back. The promise cannot be all that good if the boat has turned back from eddy. The eddy cannot be all that good if it closes too. You can make it beautiful. Referring to Maggie Smith’s poem “Good Bones. 8221; that went viral recently). Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Address never made public).

indianmetaphor.wordpress.com

January 2017 – Indian Metaphor

https://indianmetaphor.wordpress.com/2017/01

Poems with Indian motifs, Indian cultural expressions. The Hibiscus: The hibiscus. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. A phototographer's diary. A poet's diary. I and The Body. Poetry of the moment. The language of thought. What goes on inside. Follow me on Twitter. Then, at the dead of the night. A river’s waters rose , swelled. And spilled over to the village. The mountains then looked on. As a flying chariot-in-flames. Had sheared the edges smooth.

pogamanchu.wordpress.com

Meaning – Fog

https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2016/12/29/meaning

December 29, 2016. December 29, 2016. In the bus the tiny girl suggested many levels, layers of meaning filtering into a cozy bus from the information spread about in the bus around the driver seeing in the rear view mirror and passers-by who vaguely whizzed past him. It was for me to make meaning synchronizing my plane of existence with hers. At another level a fuzzy sun set on the still lake as if the collected lake had to speak for the day without orange sun blazing in other side. Fog in the throat.

indiansensibility.wordpress.com

Only truth – Indian Sensibility

https://indiansensibility.wordpress.com/2016/11/26/only-truth

Poems about Indian situations,Indian motifs, Indian cultural expressions. November 26, 2016. November 26, 2016. Money has endless queues in a sun. For old man who has outlived work. Holy city’s weaver cries out a name. Which is only truth ,full and final. Stand in queue for money to burn. On the river bank, to Shiva’s ashes. In the holy city of Varanasi , corpses are taken in procession for cremation to the river bank amid shouts of “the only truth is Rama’s (God’s) name”). View all posts by nisheedhi.

indianmetaphor.wordpress.com

Mom’s watch – Indian Metaphor

https://indianmetaphor.wordpress.com/2016/12/11/moms-watch

Poems with Indian motifs, Indian cultural expressions. The Hibiscus: The hibiscus. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. A phototographer's diary. A poet's diary. I and The Body. Poetry of the moment. The language of thought. What goes on inside. Follow me on Twitter. She was our mom , big mom. In green, fond of wrist watch. She gives us mixers to make. Our truth and hers palatable,. Keeps ticking watch with her. Let watch be buried as truth.

momentarypoems.wordpress.com

Wasp | Momentary poems

https://momentarypoems.wordpress.com/2017/01/04/wasp

Fragments of life, contextual experiences viewed as brief intersections of time and space. My wasp flies in to its mud-house. On this my computer table where. Poems are made like mud-houses. Wasp re-lives the imperial novel,. A passage to the subject country. With woman talking to its wasps. Here is wasp in a room with man. On computer typing wasp poems,. A mud-house for its future wasps. References are to William Carlos Williams’ poem Man in a Room. And Forster’s novel A Passage to India). I and The Body.

indianmetaphor.wordpress.com

October 2016 – Indian Metaphor

https://indianmetaphor.wordpress.com/2016/10

Poems with Indian motifs, Indian cultural expressions. The Hibiscus: The hibiscus. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. A phototographer's diary. A poet's diary. I and The Body. Poetry of the moment. The language of thought. What goes on inside. Follow me on Twitter. Somewhere in journey, under a banyan tree. I meet this stranger with a colorful headgear. Sitting heavily on his head, his legs swathed. In silk dress-cloth, torso decked in camphor. Leave...