The Bangalore Review

A man in Derbyshire,grows trees into chairs.Oak & willow are tiedto forms, pruned to complyto templates that determinetheir utility & usagelike children bound bytheir parent’s..

Sometimes late at nightwhen they’re done their roundsand I’m sure no one is listening,I speak to Sylvia Plath: You’ve died before I had time—we’re much..

Today a man, a woman, and a child much younger than me asked me who I wanted to be I responded with – Is that..

The shadow is the ice melting down ravines of drowned hipbones, beadings strung in the sunlight.  It rubs its head between two stones, peeling back..

The Sukshma Series is a first-hand account of an educated woman of post-colonial India reflecting on how the social and political set-up of the country defined the status of an Indian woman.

“Drinking mercury to the mystery of all that you should ever leave behind…. in time.”  “Ava Adore,” Billy Corgan My purple skin projects royal essences..

And as the sets reverse, to bring age to each step, Every sordid moment worse, lost is the night to its solemn shroud And as I were, softly..

“Can I go home yet?” Such a small voice for a big statue On a grey stool in the cornera British Museum guard yawnsand turns away..

“Do not touch this. You will only have troubles and problems.”– Archeologist, Iris Love, to Getty Museum officials on the prospective purchase of the Statue..

~After Naipaul’s “Tell Me Who to Kill”~a thank you, to those who made the journey, before  They built the train tracksfor memory, brakes to stop..