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Midnight Stroll On Road Number 3

by Sneha Subramanian Kanta

Midnight brings along reckonings that has a quality and dimension all its own. The silken threads of each hour bring forth a meditative like trance. Everything is silent – yet everything moves: the landscape, winds and restless cities. A poem by Sneha Subramanian Kanta.

I.

The
moon glistens,
rows of little houses,
of windows and matchbox
consistencies speckle long streets.

I walk where the black bird flaps
its wings vigorously at noon,
replaced by sounds — of
autumn leaves,
dry.

II.

The
blood jet amorphic
liquid of creation laughs at
I; the lone midnight traveller,

only howls of stray dogs and
gushing winds approach
and disappear, like
safety.

III.

Artificial
consumerist neon
streetlamps in a crooked line
illuminate only outer edge fringes

while the inner peripheries lurk in
its thick blanket, dark
listen: an hour more
gone?

IV.

It
is dawn, almost
taxicabs stutter with
luggage and passengers who arrive

from a panting carriage; now stationed
I walk the street, one, two, three,
while the sky changes color,
translucency.

When not conjuring axioms for the anthropocene, Sneha Subramanian Kanta observes the residuals over coasts. Her poem ‘At Dusk with the Gods’ won the Alfaaz (Kalaage) prize. An awardee of the prestigious GREAT scholarship, she reads for her second postgraduate degree in England.
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