Prabhakar Subramaniam Poems

I come from a town
Where the rain keeps coming down
Like an interminable monologue
Where the houses are so far apart
...

When I fly west
In search of greener pastures
Leaving the hot afternoon
Of my country behind
...

From across the shrinking lake
Which gives the street its name
The hill sculpted by the elements
Into a sitting elephant looks at him
...

Death stopped me at the door
Went away without answering the questions
I could only throw at what he left behind - -
That is not who he was
...

The tooth brush he had used
Is still lying in its place
On the shelf
The half-used soap
...

I moved from room to room - -
Clutching my thin pillow
A bed-sheet, mosquito racquet
And a flame of fear
...

The search for the dead
Never ends; all old men
Passing my house
Look like my father
...

In this house
Nothing is lost
But little can be found;
Those who have died
...

Think of the times
I may have stared at death
In the womb, as a newborn,
Growing up half-starved,
...

In the dreams
The dead are resurrected
Seem none the worse for dying
Seem younger, happier
...