Today’s choice
Previous poems
Usha Kishore
Chant
after Ammar Aziz
At dawn and dusk, my father
becomes a chant, that flies above
the courtyard of the old house
by the river, where only the men
recite Sanskrit prayers by lamplight,
as though in a divine trance,
to Gayatri, consort of the twilight sun.
Do they glimpse the goddess
in flecks of light that fall
into the lap of darkness?
Do they mimic the timbre
of the stars that ride on
the back of the earth woman?
What prayers are these, hymns
to a goddess incarnate in a mantra,
hymns that shut out real women?
Indian born Usha Kishore is a British poet and translator, resident on the Isle of Man. Usha is widely published and has authored three collections of poetry (the latest being Immigrant , Eyewear 2018). She recently completed her PhD in Postcolonial Poetry with Edinburgh Napier University. www.ushakishore.co.uk
Note: The Gayatri mantra is a Hindu hymn chanted during twilight hours to the goddess, who personifies the mantra.
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I hear the roar of
the ocean. I hear
a series of shrieks
and long screams.
Natasha Gauthier
Nobody knows what Cicero’s gardener whistled
to his figs and olives, what the consul’s young wife
hummed to herself while slaves combed beeswax
and perfumed oils from Carthage into her hair.
Jean Atkin
She creeps under the opening, then stands.
Her guide passes her the stub of a candle,
holds up his own to show the ceiling rock.
Iris Anne Lewis
The track leads through thickets, threaded with eyes.
Elusive scraps of dreams, they gleam, flicker out.
Antonia Kearton
On my son’s desk lies
the periodic table of the elements.
I look. Amongst the arcane names
I recognise, easy as breathing,
carbon, oxygen, gold, beloved of kings.
Elizabeth Loudon
The first three days of war
have a surprising holiday feel.
No deadlines, just the giddy gasp of shock.
Ordinary life continues.
Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad
A lacquer table, gloss under fingertips. A raised stage with dark linen. A young woman smiles with her hand-held harp, its nine strings glistening. The room swells with the cadence of her pearly notes. Beneath the pendant lights—a vision of serenity.
Pratibha Castle
Conscience
as taught her by the nuns was a bridle
on a young girl’s tongue
K. S. Moore
Teenage years
everything begins
it never ends