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K. Srilata

K. Srilata is a poet and fiction writer.  She is also Professor (English) at IIT Madras, India.  Her debut novel "Table for Four", longlisted for the Man Asian literary prize is published by Penguin India. Writers Workshop, Kolkata recently brought out her second anthology of poems "Arriving Shortly".   Her new collection, "Writing Octopus", has been published this past fall of 2013 by Authorspress.

She occasionally blogs on http://srilatawriting.blogspot.com/

We are grateful to the author for permission to share her work.

 


Kevin Keough has created the music & sings the poem by K. Srilata, "Dreaming, Mostly of Nameless Things" on his YouTube page: Kevin Keough Music


  Srilata's Origami micro-chapbook & selected poem are available below.

Origami Micro-chapbook

Selected Poem(s)

Dreaming Mostly of Nameless Things

 

Cover artwork, "Nebraska Horizon," by Peg Quinn

{mooblock= I Drink Black Tea in the Early Morning Light}

There is no milk in the house
And everything is bare.
I drink black tea
in the early morning light,
and idly hope that the day’s beauty will remain,
that I will write a line like Sheenagh Pugh’s:
        The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
        that seemed hard frozen;
        may it happen for you.

Pugh meant snow
but her keyboard came up with sorrow.
May my keyboard play such tricks on me!
 
Outside the small ambit of such hopes,
the day is creeping up
like a large bug
with questions in its poetry-killing eyes.
 
I close my eyes and think of lines to write.
I drink black tea in the early morning light.
K. Srilata © 2013

{/mooblock}

Somewhere a Skylight

 

Artwork by K. Ananya
 
Acknowledgments
All poems appear in "Arriving Shortly,"
Writers Workshop, Kolkata—publisher
"The Ninth Month: Spent Waiting"
also appears in "Seablue Child"
Brown Critique, Kolkata—publisher
and in "99 Words:
A Collection of Contemporary English Poems"
edited by Manu Dash Rayagada:
Panchabati 2006
 

 

{mooblock=Somewhere a Skylight Opens}

Black birds scatter,
slide off the tresses
of a rain tree
sunset lit.
Something returns to my heart,
past rib-cage, blood and bone,
something I don’t have a word for.
Somewhere a skylight opens.
 
In the cupped hands of the ocean
lie many rivers.
Not a drop spills out the sides of the earth.
Something returns to my heart,
past rib-cage, blood and bone,
something I don’t have a word for.
Somewhere a skylight opens.

On looking, I find this thing
for which I don’t have a word.
It is a simple thing without frames.
A thing I want to sing of
even when the skylight only shows
black bits of night.


K. Srilata © 2012


{/mooblock}