by Suchaita Tenneti
I lie loosely erect, bend as I ascend and grow thin;
Arms spurt at will, speckled with faint dabs of green.
Before me, my spiked sister – denser, barer, shapelier – we stare without looking,
But my panoptic vision: tunicked cups,
Bursts of colour—blue, yellow, red—embrace life in their tender folds.
I meditate: gliding my fingers over their layered faces, feel their intricate finery, divinely crafted,
An alien rush fills my pores – whiffs – unsubtle, proud, slyly unsettling;
My myriad feet tug, then heave, at our earthy blanket,
But humus-richness thwarts my intoxication.
The cups are us – framed by colour, contoured to order,
Rimmed with coarse hems of green, fixed, determined,
Trailing into a wall of brown-green.
Amnesiac of shared sameness.
Colours liberate, free, express
But confined by symmetry.
In this garden of definition,
We stand prisoners of our roots.
Suchaita Tenneti is a student of Education at the Azim Premji University, Bangalore. She holds a Master's in English and is passionate about postmodern literature and storytelling and is an aspiring poet.