On Life

Poems by Mona Bedi , 14th September 2023

unending rain --

i go over the purpose 

of my existence 

jacaranda blooms 

the familiar smile 

of a stranger

spring thaw

a snow crocus 

welcomes the sun

Away from Home
By Padmini Krishnan 13th September 2023

The oldest doll in
my child’s drawer

has the scent of my childhood.
The damp smell of the
shops in my city, which had
dozens and dozens of Willow trees
with their cast down heads
after sucking in all forms of winds.
Their flowers,
withering and withered,
cling to every branch and bark
after the wind dethrones them.

​

Then the storm
took over,
dislocating the leaves
to places from
where they can never return.
The whole willow is
now a maze of
tattered orange and red.

​

I still hold the damp smell
of the dead willow
and my lost city
in my chest
as I hug my doll to sleep.