Collage Poem by Prathibha Nandakumar

The eyebrows are
someone's underarms
Lips are from an ad for
canned something
Eyes are page-ends and
an accident report
A little bit of glint
from a spot on drug addiction.

No cleavgaes are no pumpkins
from a page on gardening
I got them from photo feature
on rough seas and storms
Hands are a machine
just released in the market
The cloths you'll never guess
are a centre-spread of a
funeral from a foreign magazine.

But the angish
which you say
has come through
so well
is all my own.


Prathibha Nandakumar