Arundhathi Subramaniam Poems
|1.||The Same Questions||6/25/2012|
|8.||Winter, Delhi, 1997||6/25/2012|
|9.||The City And I||6/25/2012|
|12.||I Live On A Road||6/25/2012|
|17.||5:46, Andheri Local||6/25/2012|
|18.||To The Welsh Critic Who Doesn'T Find Me Identifiably Indian||6/25/2012|
Comments about Arundhathi Subramaniam
May things stay the way they are
in the simplest place you know.
May the shuttered windows
keep the air as cool as bottled jasmine.
May you never forget to listen
to the crumpled whisper of sheets
that mould themselves to your sleeping form.
May the pillows always be silvered
with cat-down and the muted percussion
of a lover’s breath.
May the murmur of the wall clock
continue to decree that your providence
run ten minutes slow.
May nothing be disturbed
in the simplest place you know
for it is here in the foetal hush
that blueprints ...
It takes a certain cussedness
to be a tree in this city,
a certain inflexible woodenness
to dig in your heels
and hold your own
amid lamp-posts sleek as mannequins
and buildings that hold sun and glass together
with more will-power than cement,