are there pink panthers in the woods, papa?
I think I saw one crouching last night, amongst the bushes
Her eyes were angry fireflies dancing their last seconds.
Perhaps I saw a snake too. Coiled inside all that seething pink.
did you see pink panthers in the woods, papa?
You are the jungle king and you laugh at my pink panther tales.
The hunters missed my pink panther too.
I swear in your name, papa.
For Gregor Samsa
They killed you, Gregor Samsa.
They crushed your chocolate wings and
A sad little tear falls from my eye.
Did I ever tell you that I loved you?
And now they killed you, didn’t they?
Santa died yesterday
But his face was blue.
They said he died because the
I think somebody pushed him
I slit Santa’s vein thick and blue
And I was fading into
Sowmya Rajendran is 19 years old and in her final year studying English Literature at Stella Maris College, Chennai, India. She describes poetry as her “personal mosh pit, an arena in which I slam myself against the world and all that it has to say.” Of ‘Pink Panther’ she writes: “Something close to fury leapt in my head when I read Woolf’s ‘A Room of One’s Own’ and that became ‘Pink Panther’. My pink panther stands for the defiance of the stereotype of the female and I wrote it to avenge Judith Shakespeare’s death.” Of Gregor Samsa: “There used to be a cockroach in my room called Gregor Samsa (named after Kafka’s unlucky salesman!) and I found him squashed to death one fine day. ‘For Gregor Samsa’ was written that evening!” Of The Autopsy: “I’ve always loved the idea of Santa Claus and sometimes I wonder if he is really the merry old man that everyone thinks he is. ‘The Autopsy’ is an attempt to identify myself with Santa Claus, an attempt to find out what lies inside the human sack of happiness and cheer.”
|Contents||Previous | Next|