Snata Basu

Loosened from the  narrative of my own living  is a world

This forest is a tideline–deep with stillness,  where, 

Spectral land—you are bleeding hollow; flesh and bone at the precipice of ruin,

In the hush—footsteps fill the laden streets, .grasshoppers teeth to return home. Veiled divine mother, .she blooms in shards—from under the rain.from beyond the sallow moon.in her lion’s gait… tidal sorrow pushing through .your swallowing metropolitan heap. .

There’s a purgatorial break between these stretches …flaxen against the lights

you don't recognise yourself, / everything is lost like a fish in Lethean space. / you have mistaken truth for love again

Women and the earth have to tolerate a lot.  –Kaajal (1965)

The first pulse, in the midst of a whipping maelstrom,