Posts

Showing posts with the label Sneha Subramanian Kanta

The Line of Yearning at Devon Coast by Sneha Subramanian Kanta

The Line of Yearning at Devon Coast *for H Waves of ephemeral length beat over a fog faced February — loud voices of winds mix with rising dust. Night mouths ad libitum in the habitat hours of enveloping dark — ruffling over the shore, three seagulls sleep on a bed of beige sand. The descent downhill full of empty shadows — seismic waves shiver vacantly, below in the damp. Brief Biography: Sneha Subramanian Kanta resonates with ghettos, writing from the margins among several nuances in the manufacturing of otherness. Her work is forthcoming in Fallujah Magazine, Serendipity, Erstwhile Magazine, Thumb Print Magazine and the first print anthology of Peacock Journal (Little Red Tree Publishing). A recipient of the prestigious GREAT scholarship, she is pursuing her second postgraduate degree in the United Kingdom. Write to her on  s.sneha01@yahoo.in

Union by Sneha Subramanian Kanta

Union * for H. In your light, I dance to the faint glory of dawn, as it beats inside me. A momentary tide draws nearer to my feet soles, I breathe your fresh breath in sprinkles of the salty sea. This temporal body of clay extinguishes each evening at the close of dusk. You are the veils, a solitude in which I fold life away, while secrets slowly unravel as firm roots spread over hills. You lift me as the miracle that settles between stars and the semantic of their fragments. In the string of voices that ebb relentless, I sing to your color, it illuminates a deeper chord through sea-shells. The whole universe is blue again, as daybreak brings birds back to chirp a new paean. Brief Biography: Sneha Subramanian Kanta strikes a chord with vast spaces, water-bodies, wildflowers, the musky warmth of spring, among several else. You can write to her on  s.sneha01@yahoo.in

Midnight by Sneha Subramanian Kanta

Midnight * for H (i) the carnations of time bloom within the gray womb of a sky. tidal waves toil, tether westward winds now bygone. (ii) time is an apostrophe night, a stencil smudged over its steadfast slippages. (iii) in the inertia of a darkened ether is the dream to share a common sky. Biography: Sneha Subramanian Kanta believes in dreams and the quiet language of shores. Write to her at  s.sneha01@yahoo.in