The Web Poetry Corner
DreamMachineThe Web Poetry Corner is a Dream Machine Site
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web
Google

The Web Poetry Corner

Neerada Suresh

of

New Delhi, Delhi, India

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback



If you have comments or suggestions for Neerada Suresh, you can contact this author at:
neeradas@hotmail.com (Neerada Suresh)


Find a book store near you, no matter where you are located in the U.S.A.!


Cerzan

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

Gypsy's Photo Gallery


Tea

by

Neerada Suresh

It was always the same scenario,
the sameline.
While I made tea
on a rusty red stove
he stood watching
leaning by the door
and then said,
I like the cut of your dress
as though it were a cue
to turn the stove on to sim
and let the simmering within
come to a boil.
And before anything could spill
the tea was made and drunk
in a silence
battered down by banal words.


A Winter Drive

by

Neerada Suresh

With you
I'm not sure
whether to read
the lines
or between.
Driving through a winter dusk
when the car windows
frosted with our breath
you wrote my name
on the windscreen
the letters upside down
or whatever
as for mirror reading.
I struggled with the wheel,
the blur and my smile
while you sat back
smiling at the skill
in your fingertips.
You didn't look my way
and admit you had read
my billowing joy.
Teach me
that hieroglyphics
with which
I may
read you.


Alignment

by

Neerada Suresh

When Romesh Kaul is away
his house comes alive
in a disorderly way.
Newspapers tend to look
fluffed up,opened out and read.
Shoes,unaligned against the wall
laze around in exciting zig zags.
Misshapen cushions compete with curtains
to excel in a shameless disarray.
Paintings on walls in mute glee
sport lopsided grins.
But when Romesh Kaul is in,
newspapers stand stacked
compressed,breathing in.
Shoes align themselves
awed,open mouthed.
Paintings, curtains, cushions, sofas
all tell a tamed tale.
Romesh Kaul is away weekdays
and arrives weekends
to align himself
with my friend Promila
who defies
a certain kind of alignment.

Uncles In New York

by

Neerada Suresh

Maternal uncles
in ancestral homes
prowled through porticos
framing
codes of conduct,
taming
first generation flighty nieces.
Raised eyebrows, voices
lowering hemlines
steadying
hormonal imbalances.

Moving to New York
to suburban homes
the exiled monarchs
mowed lawns,
twice a week stood
garbage cans
to the edge of the kerb.
Barbecued dinners
for downtown friends.
Maneuvered an Audi
through the Manhattan madness-
between asthmatic fits-
to treat a toned down niece
on visit to the US.
And in the wine offered
At the Chinese restaurant
on 72nd street, was drowned
the sadness, the guilt
of a chastised dusk
when the garland strung
to swing down the navel
of the god
leaning in languor
to a peacock’s back
fell an inch short
of an uncle’s pious whim.

Now, a more than civil uncle
sat across
absolved of his crime.

UV Vision

by

Neerada Suresh

That was years ago.
My uncle had written,
make it to New York,
be your own feet,
wait at tables, baby-sit
do your thing, anything.
That was way back
when my world had glowed
four dimensional
in the UV vision
of a strutting nineteen.

Now, tethered to two sons
weathered by one man
and exploding through
a blue dimensional
furtive, fantasy romance,
meeting my uncle
at Seneca Falls, Syracuse
and late-night chatting
across a table top
of handpicked strawberries,
micro waved rice and sambar,
high on
a few pegs and my poems
he spilled
in apologetic confidence
that my poems
had triggered in him
an intellectual orgasm
and in spasms bemoaned
his demented dollar dependence,
his intellectual impotence
at a sapless, rootless existence.
His last days , he said
he hoped to spend back home
on a remote coconut plantation
complete with a pool, a barbecue
and a tennis court.