This morning is bellicose with flame… he thought, surveying the arid landscape. Small wonder that Babur the Mongol hated this…. The Metro rail streaked its hungry lope through prickly thickets, its belly’s churn of bodies bovine and dangle-necked. Scrawny straggles of beefwood groves sped by, reclaiming the land like transplanted hair on flaking scalp. […]
Prabakar Thyagarajan is a physician and poet who divides his time between Boston, Massachusetts and Chennai, India. His poems have been published in Bluslate and Open Space (India). He finds himself curiously affected by the turning pages of light inside a passing day. He loves Rembrandt's self-portraits, and the poems of Hart Crane and Gerard Manley Hopkins.