Author: Myiesha
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The reality of Indian Block Prints
“But that’s it. Work keeps going on.” This is the mantra of over 20,000 people who contribute to India’s woodblock printing industry and are dependant on it. The most revered place for block printing in India is the Jaipur region of Rajasthan, a place renowned for preserving old traditions. Introduced by the Chippa community in…
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Homecoming
On the heath, Where witches seek A plan so detrimental; You stand tall, Above them all, Smirking through the scandals. This gash is insurmountable. This night is unmoored. This tribulation is cavernous. The avalanches are in motion capture, A colossal catastrophe and hearts fractured. In every vein, runs your blood In every tear, runs your…
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Harbinger of vacancy
O harbinger of creation, What’s the secret to such sumptuousness? You’re the querencia to every thing that lives The reverence for you stays untouched You’re as iridescent as two mirrors Placed garishly facing each other; Your luminosity puts to shame the stars, And their crescent moon. All of these sheens are evanescent, The day will…
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Label
The label continued to stayUnless confronted with a triumph Which was a rare caseI call this a pile of nothingnessFor these labels don’t originate fromA stamp on a piece of paperThese labels are the willow warblerThey don’t stay at one place,Nor do they ever seem to fade away. These labels are faster than the wind…
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Peripeteia
You’re the calm before the storm, And the calamity it has caused You’re the fire weepingTears of coalAnd the inferno swallowing Lands of hoax You come in form of rain, I entrap the petrichorYou come in form of pain, I wail to feel you more
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Dreamy fancy
A few words, I speak.I stutter, I stammerand there on the battleground,I wait for someone to come and stab me. I reach the edge,And then I slumpInto a river that floods the townYou don’t understand, the water is neck-deep.I’m begging for mercy on God’s feet.Now only guiltNow only remorseAnd repeating tapes from the combatMy mother…
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Drizzle in your xeric
You are Belle, a small-town princessWho’s yet too braveShe must’ve met a peculiar Greek godFor she can turn everythingmurky Into something golden
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Panache
Something there is that spites and sniggers at him For his faux reel comes out in forms of Disintegrated blithesome colours that make no deals. Like a monk cursing a lily-white crook Like a halo, he paints a circle of light Like a sash lift on a window He sways again, marks another arch This…
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Lucelia
She’s always loved the rain Because she gets to take the petrichor And store it for evermore As a memory from her reverie. Seven worlds away, in an elysian space, Her divinity screams “Oh Lucelia, come back home to me” Lucelia grew up amongst a caliginous haze A silver clad crook’s curse enchanted her brain …
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Two more minutes
Your magicians call it futile, gray and ghastly. And right before they inhume your so called “fracas” You hope they remember it.
The Barbaric Yawp 