Prabhakar Subramaniam Poems

I cup my hands
To fetch water
From the nameless spring,
What I bring
...

The blank page

Waits for words
...

The hands are tired
From clappping
For those
Who leave little for others,
...

There's nowhere to run
The footsteps sound nearer
The stranger's hands
Are passing closer
...

Do not count the steps
That have to be climbed
To reach the shrine
Counting will make it harder
...

Everytime, inside the bus

Full of strangers
...

I turn back at the door

For a last look, once more
...

At the time

When girls were
...