Four poems from Whispering City
28 August 2013
I sweeten as do onions
In the end is carbon dark.
Brackish and blue belong
In the puddle
A white kitten floats;
A handkerchief the colour of its eyes
Slitting the neck.
If you think there is more to me
you force the blankness to blacken.
I am beyond your ken.
An incomplete sentence,
Like the shape of the sickle moon
Only stammerers can make poems
I am a broken pavement.
Prajna Desai is a writer who lives presently in Mumbai.
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