Sunday, 26 January 2020


I fear I am a poet, tradition bound
to mostly ignore systems – documents -
though I’ll use paper to scribble around
to hold onto some meanings, and moments.

I do use paper, I will freely admit
and I don’t abhor the screen, I’m using one -
but some nerve rebels if I’m asked to show it.
I won’t comply. That too is tradition.

You see, paper’s fragile. Identity
is carried somewhere else, in the stories
of foremothers travelling from one city
to the next, braiding streams, estuaries.

Through many rivers, borders, crisscrossed lands;
tradition too, the tangling of those strands.


  1. Beautiful - and poignant.
    I so hope the voices are heard.

  2. Hari OM
    Boundaries are so artificial... I do hope Republic Day presents as All India and that you have a joyous time with friends and neighbours. YAM xx

  3. tangled threads - your words and others efforts must keep them from knotting forever. Continued good luck

  4. Love that you're braiding streams,estuaries. That's all we do all the time and hope for the best. Something soon emerges out of the tangled web for others after us.

    1. We continue the braids that our foremothers started...hopefully something of beauty emerges from each generation for the next.

  5. Hi Nila - we're going to continue to use paper and pencil (or another older method) to write - as necessity dictates: the screens may not be available ... to record our thoughts, our needs, our memories ... you evoke much here ... for our troubled lands. Cheers Hilary