The romantic quill

and intoxicated ink

have been replaced


No profound implication anymore

in my handwriting skill

My words have been traced


Now professional text on page

By a new contraption

of the Remington age


Tlick tlick tlick tlick… shwing

A new line begins

The silence is filled

as the typewriter sings


Anindita Gupta, India

Japanese Restaurant Dream

She sees starchy white sushi boats

flying pastel coloured flags

idling through Nori marshes

down pungent ginger rivers

that cleave wasabi fields verdant

under a tempura battered sky

heavy with fumes of Sake clouds

that yield fragile Raku plates

which shatter on the soy-stained earth

into smooth round Feng shui pebbles

that are strewn by the circling eddies of green tea rituals

into Kanji-shaped avenues

down which the saucy Teriyaki woman

with her languid chopstick limbs

and umami drenched lips

and her printed kimono breath

is bringing a tear-warm miso pail

into a lemongrass and bamboo scented dawn

being roused by wafting cherry blossoms

that have drummed a tattoo

upon the sliding rice-paper door

beyond which the low-table of waking

is kneeling, in barefoot hunger


Anindita Gupta, India