for Kanta, my mother

I walked by the sea-shore, with reverberating sounds
from Eliot's Wasteland and its usage of Sanskrit words 

and remembered my mother and I going to learn the

It was evening even then—inscribed in an elegiac meter; 
the soul was eternal, time; ever-changing and temporal. 

The teacher, a long white-bearded fellow, an off-spring of
the samsara, turned away by its own cocoon often paid emphasis 

on syllables that must be stressed—like some natural
emergency beckoned attention. My mother, a connoisseur of 

languages and linguistics, carefully took notes. How we walked
the lane to our abode in the government quarters, her hrit pundarika 

beating fast to the pace of incomplete chores—my stotram for her, 
unknown to her, still incomplete.

A GREAT scholarship awardee, SNEHA SUBRAMANIAN KANTA reads for a second postgraduate degree in literature in England. She is the general advisor and poetry editor for her university journal INK. When not reading and debating the syllabic constructions of philosophers old and new, she takes ecopoetry writing workshops for marine biology and students in the sciences. Her poem “At Dusk with the Gods”  won the Alfaaz (Kalaage) prize. Untold stories of refugees, writing from the margins and postcolonial literatures are causes that resonate. Her work is forthcoming in Boston Accent Lit, Wild Women's Medicine Circle, Otoliths, Madcap Review, and elsewhere.