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Amulya Hiremath

A reader, a dreamer, a writer, Amulya Hiremath is a believer in the power of storytelling. Interested in all things prose and poetry she is currently pursuing her Master's in English at the University of Mysore, India. Her work has appeared in college publications as well as international sites. You can find more of her work here:

Anti-clockwise from left
Exploring now: stories

๐ผ ๐‘ก๐‘œ๐‘œ๐‘˜ ๐‘Ž ๐น๐‘œ๐‘™๐‘˜๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ๐‘’ ๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐ฟ๐‘–๐‘ก๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘Ž๐‘ก๐‘ข๐‘Ÿ๐‘’ ๐‘๐‘™๐‘Ž๐‘ ๐‘ 
๐ฟ๐‘Ž๐‘ ๐‘ก ๐‘ ๐‘’๐‘š๐‘’๐‘ ๐‘ก๐‘’๐‘Ÿ.

On the first day:
We arrive, wide-eyed,
Eager to explore the exotic, almost extinct,
Not knowing we were already full of
๐น๐‘œ๐‘™๐‘˜ and ๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ๐‘’.
From the corners of those very wide eyes
To the strands still held snug from childhood,
We just didnโ€™t know where our stories lay.

We talk about
Gods behind masks and masked evils,
Temples left in ruins but their meaning still in place,
Differentiate between ๐‘ก๐‘œ๐‘œ๐‘กโ„Ž and ๐‘๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘ ๐‘ก goddesses,
And how everything is of value for worship but
Stories donโ€™t need to be worshipped to last.
And on some days, we become the narrative.

On the last day:
We visit a museum.
Make our way from the palaeolithic to the just then history.
Nameless terracotta shapes, votives and stupas,
Snatched from their stories, their times
And arranged, encased, in the order
Of our meaning, in stick-straight lines.

My friend and I,
When no one is looking,
Lean in closer to the glass,
And generously whisper into them,
Give them some of our stories to hold.

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