Prabhakar Subramaniam Poems

The school whites
Are hung out to dry
In readiness for Monday
There is a hint of stain
...

We used to count the days
Till the next vacation
When the hills wrapped us
In their white mists
...

No one loves the night
More than us
Hates moonlight
More than us
...

In the perpetual motion
Of the long journey
The known took on unknown hues
The distance gave them a new light
...

Is the night ours

If the day chases us
...

Like a child burying its face
In its mother's shoulders
On seeing strangers,
Like a son smoking on the sly
...

When we bought a radio player

Our house became famous in the street.
...

I keep looking at feet passing by
The drug-resistant pain in my right leg
Has slowed down my brisk gait;
The mother burdened with school bags
...

I cannot believe

He will not return
...

What is seen

Is not scene by scene
...