Tishani Doshi

(9 December 1975 - / Madras / India)

Tishani Doshi Poems

1. At The Rodin Museum 6/23/2012
2. Undertwo 6/23/2012
3. Love In Carlisle 6/23/2012
4. Aj, Age 15 6/23/2012
5. Lament —I 9/23/2016
6. Love Poem 11/11/2016
7. Contract 11/11/2016
8. Walking Around after Neruda 11/11/2016
9. Find the Poets 11/11/2016
10. Girls are coming out of the Woods 11/11/2016
11. The Art of Losing 11/11/2016
12. Turning Into Men Again 6/23/2012
13. What The Body Knows 6/23/2012
14. The Affair 6/23/2012
15. Open Hands 6/23/2012
16. Another Man's Woman 6/23/2012
17. Ode To The Walking Woman 6/23/2012
18. Immigrant's Song 6/23/2012
19. Ode To Drowning 6/23/2012
20. The Day We Went To The Sea 6/23/2012

Comments about Tishani Doshi

  • Gordon Nosworthy Gordon Nosworthy (12/28/2015 10:04:00 AM)

    this poet has a great deal to say
    i will follow her with interest

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  • Vishal Thapa Vishal Thapa (5/18/2015 7:58:00 AM)

    nice poems cool.......i found myself reading some of the poems so fast as if the words would disappear before i could finish them, lovely work, thanks for sharing............... i am love it

  • Mark Dillon Mark Dillon (7/3/2012 10:22:00 AM)

    an amazing use of words and descriptions, i found myself reading some of the poems so fast as if the words would disappear before i could finish them, lovely work, thanks for sharing.

Best Poem of Tishani Doshi

The Day We Went To The Sea

The day we went to the sea
mothers in Madras were mining
the Marina for missing children.
Thatch flew in the sky, prisoners
ran free, houses danced like danger
in the wind. I saw a woman hold
the tattered edge of the world
in her hand, look past the temple
which was still standing, as she was —
miraculously whole in the debris of gaudy
South Indian sun. When she moved
her other hand across her brow,
in a single arcing sweep of grace,
it was as if she alone could alter things,
bring us to the wordless safety of our beds.

Read the full of The Day We Went To The Sea

What The Body Knows

The body dances in a darkened room
Turning itself inside out
So that skin can face the light in fractures,
Slip like shadow through skeleton walls,
Begin to cry — really — to scream
About the tarnished weight of dreams.

This has been a drift after all.
The body returns to its original place,

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