the nocturnal hum was greasy
in overtones of sordid rain
that lashed its needle fingers
upon slippery moss mattresses.
parched leaves and bushes
preached as thunder strokes roared
like church gatherings — on Sundays,
rising in green and transparent dew.
the earth welcomed insects
as newer bursts of leaves grew and fell,
in soft tunnels within trees they resided
to retreat after the present day sun sank.
newer sunrises pressed their thumb
upon small alleys and narrow streets —
burst into their midpoint — rotated over,
in scatters of a faint yellow sleet.
— Sneha Subramanian Kanta
Sneha straddles paths from linear and discursive lines. Ghettos, immigrants, nations, untold refugee tales, the manufacturing of otherness and writing from the margins are some subject matters of resonance. Her work is forthcoming in Fallujah Magazine, 7X20 mag, Erstwhile Magazine, Sahitya Akademi, Noble/ Gas Qtrly, Epigraph Magazine and the first print anthology of Peacock Journal. She is a GREAT scholarship awardee pursuing her second postgraduate degree in literature in the United Kingdom. Write to her at firstname.lastname@example.org