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Seven Poems

By Tikuli

(1) The child widow

Exhausted, the sun finally dropped
into the river, and the night rose
to wipe the vermillion off its waters,
hunched over she sat at its bank, like
a wilted flower, when she looked up,
her tonsured head shone like the
august moon, slowly she stood,
a white shadow, and began
to walk away, leaving behind
the broken shards of her childhood.

(2) Rain

Rain pours like old jazz,
scribbles itself on roads that
shimmer like the piano keys,
liquid notes cling to the
tree silhouettes, the last train
leaves the station, taking with it
a sea of salt laced bodies, the night
drinks up the evening.

(3) Absence

When memories bleed over the silent waters,
it is to you my thoughts turn, I glide backward
in time like a phantom barge floating upon
a slumbering river of autumnal sadness,
taking it all in, never filled,
just fading, darkness
agrees with me, from endlessness
to endlessness, we, as one, finally.

(4) Quietude

Rain falls in a delirious tumble
of words, lines, poems and then
it stops. In media res. Hope and
grief slide down the windowpanes,
I listen to the shadowed tones
of quivering voices filling the
spaces in the trees, the moon
scythes the sky, the river, grey
and glass-cold, glistens in quiet light
like a dream during sleep, your body grows
heavier in my arms, the day was a raging
sea, now still as your breath.

(5) Us

In the luminous womb of rain drops
stories are told, re-told, forgotten,
then told again as if for the first time,
the songs you softly whistled in our quiet
togetherness, dreams shuffled to dust,
a life unlived, sun drenched in liquid
green, kitchen smokes and laughter,
a winter sky, flawlessly blue, things
unspeakable and unspoken,
a kitchen knife, stained with
the graffiti of infidelity, two silhouettes
that once were us.

(6) Void

loneliness curls in the spaces
between the notes of the rainsong,
the night bleeds neon, collects
in puddles near the wet sidewalks,
cigarettes, float like decomposed corpses
bloated with memories, voices, tense with
longing, rustle through the trees, possessed
and restless the midnight lingers.

(7) Fever

My body burns like a city
set ablaze, even the touch
of the air feels like a shrapnel,
throat, a desert in storm,
Inside, thorns create a
piercing parallel language,
no flower blooms here, a
relief, I loath lovers who
betray. In the opium haze
mountains rise and fall
like my breath, slowly fading,
then emerging, the mind
begins to shut down as the
heart curls between two notes
of a song long forgotten, and,
in the midst of this my tongue
ambles in the streets of Delhi
filled with the aromas of Eid,
In another town, my second born
celebrates his birthday, the thought
of him keeps me going.


Tikuli is a blogger & author from Delhi. Her short stories and poems have appeared in print and in online literary magazines including Le Zaparougue, MiCROW 8, The Smoking Book (Poets Wear Prada Press, US), Life And legends, Levure littéraire 10, The Enchanting Verses Literary Review, Open Road Review, Mnemosyne Literary Journal, Women’s Web and Troubadour21. Her print publications include poems in Guntur National Poetry Festival Anthology, Melange – a Potpourri of thoughts and the much acclaimed Chicken Soup For The Indian Romantic Soul (Westland). Her debut poetry book, Collection of Chaos, was published in 2014 by Leaky Boot Press. She blogs at

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5 Responses to “Seven Poems”

  1. Sushama Varma

    As a lay reader fond of poetry , I like these poems for conveying turmoil , hurt , sadness in an uncomplicated way.


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