India Uncut

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Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Amnesia cricket

Superb phrase, that. Nice little poem, this. I rather like these stanzas:
Amnesia Cricket, Like when the
memory of a ball thrown melts
into the brown of the pitch, or
the blood from a wounded knee

Drips down the naked calf. Half
a memory sitting rather still on
the stumps. Like a bail. Or a
sleeping insect when it was 8 PM.
Thing is, you can like the way words come together, the music they create, the half-images they throw up, without even understanding what's being said. That's the case with me and Neha's poem.

Or maybe I'm just dumb, and trying to feel cool. Could that be it? Nah.

Update: The girl's on fire, she is. Check out "For invisible Zoo-mates" and "The Immoralist and The Peacock". I like the thought of a minor river snuggling.
amit varma, 7:39 PM| write to me | permalink | homepage

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