The long drawn out sighs
Masquerade as silence and
Vanish in a stolen exchange
They’re gone leaving
Slivers that sound like half-finished expletives
drowned out by the hate. the subject
fossilizes emotion
wrung. Squeezed out till it drips
in denial.
Cars run past
In haste
Where there never was room
To put even a foot;
Forget about a stare or a glimpse
From the moral police.
Sequestering in idleness
In enforcing
Unique brands of moral science
Between alcoholic hazes.
Habitats are the creation of habit
Of there being no other choice
Of being corralled
In mental encampments;
Where you’re never found.
Between one footstool and the next
Your legs plied under.
Naked breasts.
Author Bio:
Rony Nair’s been a worshipper at the altar of prose and poetry for almost as long as he could think. They have been the shadows of his life. Rony was a published columnist with the Indian Express. He is also a professional photographer about to hold his first major exhibition and has previously been featured by Chiron Review, Sonic Boom, Quail Bell Magazine, YGDRASIL journal, Mindless Muse, Yellow Chair Review, Two Words For, Alephi, New Asian Writing (NAW), Semaphore, The Economic Times, 1947, The Foliate Oak Magazine, Open Road Magazine, Tipton Review, Antarctica Journal, North East Review, Muse India, and YES magazine, among others. Rony has also featured in the Economic Times of India. He cites V.S Naipaul, A.J Cronin, Patrick Hamilton, Alan Sillitoe, John Braine and Nevil Shute in addition to FS Fitzgerald as influences on his life; and Philip Larkin, Dom Moraes and Ted Hughes as his personal poetry idols. Larkin’s’ collected poems would be the one book he would like to die with. When the poems perish. As do the thoughts!
Masquerade as silence and
Vanish in a stolen exchange
They’re gone leaving
Slivers that sound like half-finished expletives
drowned out by the hate. the subject
fossilizes emotion
wrung. Squeezed out till it drips
in denial.
Cars run past
In haste
Where there never was room
To put even a foot;
Forget about a stare or a glimpse
From the moral police.
Sequestering in idleness
In enforcing
Unique brands of moral science
Between alcoholic hazes.
Habitats are the creation of habit
Of there being no other choice
Of being corralled
In mental encampments;
Where you’re never found.
Between one footstool and the next
Your legs plied under.
Naked breasts.
Author Bio:
Rony Nair’s been a worshipper at the altar of prose and poetry for almost as long as he could think. They have been the shadows of his life. Rony was a published columnist with the Indian Express. He is also a professional photographer about to hold his first major exhibition and has previously been featured by Chiron Review, Sonic Boom, Quail Bell Magazine, YGDRASIL journal, Mindless Muse, Yellow Chair Review, Two Words For, Alephi, New Asian Writing (NAW), Semaphore, The Economic Times, 1947, The Foliate Oak Magazine, Open Road Magazine, Tipton Review, Antarctica Journal, North East Review, Muse India, and YES magazine, among others. Rony has also featured in the Economic Times of India. He cites V.S Naipaul, A.J Cronin, Patrick Hamilton, Alan Sillitoe, John Braine and Nevil Shute in addition to FS Fitzgerald as influences on his life; and Philip Larkin, Dom Moraes and Ted Hughes as his personal poetry idols. Larkin’s’ collected poems would be the one book he would like to die with. When the poems perish. As do the thoughts!
RSS Feed