—a poem by Rony Nair

The long drawn out sighs
Masquerade as silence and

Vanish in a stolen exchange
They’re gone leaving

Slivers that sound like
half finished expletives

drowned out by the hate
the subject

fossilizes emotion
wrung. Squeezed out till it drips

in denial.

Cars run past
In haste

Where there never was room
To put even a foot

Forget about a stare or a glimpse
From the moral police

Sequestering in idleness
In enforcing

Unique brands of moral science
Between alcoholic hazes.

Habitats are the creation of habit
Of there being no other choice

Of being corralled
In mental encampments

Where you’re never found.
Between one footstool and the next

Your legs plied under.
Naked breasts.

Rony Nair has been writing poetry since 1985 and was a published columnist with the Indian Express in the early 1990’s. He is also a published photographer about to hold his first major exhibition and currently writes a regular column for two online journals; one of them widely read over South India. Rony has been profiled by the Economic Times of Delhi and has also written for them. He cites V.S Naipaul, A.J Cronin, Patrick Hamilton, Alan Sillitoe, John Braine and Nevil Shute in addition to FS Fitzgerald as influences on his life; and Philip Larkin, Dom Moraes and Ted Hughes as his personal poetry idols. Larkin’s’ collected poems would be the one book he would like to die with. When the poems perish. As do the thoughts!