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Svetlana Saraswat

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/ Moon / The skyline of Mumbai competes with you While I look from the 24th floor My hands are folded without my knowledge My atheism catches me praying red-handed ( Read full poem in caption ) Moon The skyline of Mumbai competes with you While I look from the 24th floor My hands are folded without my knowledge

/ Moon / The skyline of Mumbai competes with you While I look from the 24th floor My hands are folded without my knowledge My atheism catches me praying red-handed ( Read full poem in caption ) Moon The skyline of Mumbai competes with you While I look from the 24th floor My hands are folded without my knowledge

Svetlana Saraswat

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/ Bearing Fruit / Lemon seeds have been sown in the soil of my stomach. Fresh green leaves have sprouted from my ears, nose and mouth. Sunlight and water has rained, rained heavily on my hair. The leaves are always dripping wet. They smile with content. I never write with an empty stomach. ( READ FULL PROSE POEM IN CAPTION) / Bearing Fruit / Lemon seeds have been sown in the soil of my stomach. Fresh green leaves have sprouted from my ears, nose and mouth. Sunlight and water has rained, rained heavily on my hair. The leaves are always dripping wet. They smile with content. I never write with an empty stomach. The bark of my words always comes from a nourished tree. I am, too. Similar to a well-fed tree. Soon, flowers will bloom and people will see. I can afford the brightest colors. Soon, I’ll be bearing fruit and everyone will eat. I can afford the zestiest meals. While unpacking the gift of time, my woody hands paused to feel the deep hole of pain in my chest. It was widening with the abundance of awareness about my world. The sad and partisan things that happen to people with no lemon seeds. Or those with lemon seeds, but yellowing leaves. Or with green leaves but no flowers. Or with flowers but no fruit. To underfed trees. Their barks spilling ink, all blue and heavy, in a tongue the rest of us no longer have (or never had). We see the pages doused in ink and wantonly call it dry, blowing air to make their words soundless. #napowrimo #prosepoem #escapril

/ Bearing Fruit / Lemon seeds have been sown in the soil of my stomach. Fresh green leaves have sprouted from my ears, nose and mouth. Sunlight and water has rained, rained heavily on my hair. The leaves are always dripping wet. They smile with content. I never write with an empty stomach. ( READ FULL PROSE POEM IN CAPTION) / Bearing Fruit / Lemon seeds have been sown in the soil of my stomach. Fresh green leaves have sprouted from my ears, nose and mouth. Sunlight and water has rained, rained heavily on my hair. The leaves are always dripping wet. They smile with content. I never write with an empty stomach. The bark of my words always comes from a nourished tree. I am, too. Similar to a well-fed tree. Soon, flowers will bloom and people will see. I can afford the brightest colors. Soon, I’ll be bearing fruit and everyone will eat. I can afford the zestiest meals. While unpacking the gift of time, my woody hands paused to feel the deep hole of pain in my chest. It was widening with the abundance of awareness about my world. The sad and partisan things that happen to people with no lemon seeds. Or those with lemon seeds, but yellowing leaves. Or with green leaves but no flowers. Or with flowers but no fruit. To underfed trees. Their barks spilling ink, all blue and heavy, in a tongue the rest of us no longer have (or never had). We see the pages doused in ink and wantonly call it dry, blowing air to make their words soundless. #napowrimo #prosepoem #escapril