Ripples

Nithya Sivashankar

Nithya Sivashankar is not a poet. She finds most poetry pretentious, including the ones that she has written. She has a soft corner for Shel Silverstein and Sukumar Ray though. She has given up writing poems and is now an Editor at a leading children’s publishing house in Chennai.

Ripples,
A blade of grass,
The sight of the distant oleander.
Translucent fluid green
Breaths, beneath.
Muted, smoky incense-laden air.
Filtered memories of Vasant Vihar
The plant, I made my own.
The rhythm,
The march,
The printing press.
Filtered memories of my Park Town morning.
His pink flesh,
His left foot,
The odd blue.
And my tumbler of chai.