Corollary There are mornings, more mornings now, when I try to separate love from myself. I describe my face to the silence as a stranger would, to another, after a brief encounter. I describe my love to the mirror as a bird would explain light to another, in the dark. I describe our time together as a fish would talk of wetness to another, not knowing. Your fingers comb through the lines, trying to distinguish reason from craft. But a poem is only a corollary. A consequence that has subsumed its cause. The glass in our window is neither inside nor out. The sky becomes a sky only when we look up. You describe distance to me as a road would to another, as a beginning or ending. Rajani Radhakrishnan Rajani Radhakrishnan is from Bangalore, India. She posts her work on thotpurge.wordpress.com. Her poems have recently appeared in the Parentheses Journal, the Poetry Annals Anthology –Anatomy of Desire, The American Poetry Journal and Abridged.
3 Comments
2/9/2020 02:36:04 am
Someone once told me, 'Philosophy is death to poetry.' You constantly disprove this in the most brilliant of ways.
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May 2025
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