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Vol. 1:  On Isolation


The 5th of August

poem by Naveen Kishore

Her eyes like caves in which the wounded animal had dragged itself to die by the side of the poisoned lake


Grieving angels shrouded in shadows once hand stitched by the sun were no match for the wise woman’s melancholy


Rose bushes pierced by thorns they had sired lay bleeding in the crimson moonlight even as the snow continued to fall


A solitary womb stood begging at the cross-roads braving the indifference of passers-by who walked past counting their beads in braille


The one-legged violinist strung his bow and struck a tune that no one stopped to listen or appreciate let alone pay for


She shook me awake wanting to know why I wept in my sleep

To dwell.

To linger upon.

A word.

A thing.

A thing of beauty.

Not overt.

Or noticeable.

Just. Beauty. 

The kind that accompanies silence.

Silence that partners solitude.

Not the lonely kind.

The kind that is sought.

And being sought is hard to find.

Or pin down.

The kind that is tactile.

As in palpable.

Akin to ‘feeling’.

That which has no sound.




Often deafening in its desire to envelop.


Sound born of lack.

Lack of the audible.


poem by Naveen Kishore

Naveen Kishore is a theatre lighting designer, photographer, and the publisher at Seagull Books.

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