Trapped inside the ice-box,amidst daily targetsand the staccatos of keys click-clacking,she grows invisible hands,reaching out to thefaraway seathrough the glass window. ©Kavya Janani. U If you love my poems, please
The air thick with silence I strive to embrace the joy found in this calm reverberation. What more can I ask for? I live in the now. I search within
Is there a world out there? I’d love to traipse through the amber creases, making love to the golden sanguinity of the dusk. The colossal sky-spread has no idea of
a pompous moonwading through the branches time stopping stillat the bejewelled silence gratitude fountainsfrom the simmering woundsof a gruelling day ©Kavya Janani. U If you love my poems, please consider
How enraptured am I while I lather my skin with the Goddess of moisturizing soaps? Or soak my feet in balmy Epsom salts? Or just enjoy a quiet moment in
You carried me through the battlefieldtoward this worldand laid my heart like a royal lionin my hands.Roar, you said, when it was time,and I did.I moved through fears, through mistakes.I
No one knows the nightingale that flutters in me. No one knows my heart is an underrated song. I carry through the hurricanes toward the glimmer. No one knows the
Whose is this invisible hand watering my heartstrings with gratitude? What was once cloaked in the darkness of the night sees perpetual sunrises. Is this what they call flourishing into
Vast green, peppered with purple flowers. Even the pewter-grey clouds can’t help the gravitational pull. They cascade, chorusing like opera singers. ©Kavya Janani. U If you love my poems, please
i. Only a poet can enjoy the felicity of devouring salted-caramel-brownie ice cream on the apartment’s balcony, with the silence of the April afternoon melting into the layer of chocolate,