Verse – Sneha Subramanian Kanta

The blue sea and white foam mix as Picasso’s
color palette, but it has different veins. At noon,
I rolled my flannel trousers in three folds, then
wiped snow off the window rails stuck there
like white wax. There was a flood outside but I
preferred the company of plants that grow when
it rains outside. I brought bread, candles, envelopes.
The stamps and paper were in stock. Who thinks
of how things in the house were placed while they
read a letter? Perhaps there is a haphazard link.
I am full of unwanted details. The sink is clean like
shallow water in monsoon. I saw Greenshanks scatter
by the bay while smells of cement sprinted from the sea.
Does a year add anything to increase written volumes?
I end with a philosophical anecdote and hope it shines
on the page for you to learn. We are descendants
from the same fate and I request you to touch a tattered
cloud from the sky when it rains on the other side.