Friday 14 January 2022

Three Fascinating Poems by Pragya Suman


A Pink Postmodernist Crept In Pale Prague 


The jarring justice of the man; Kafka penned in melancholy.

Journey circled in hundred years


As sanitary was at the door


Vermin crippled in segments

For judgment,



My neighbour was senile, lurching gait; Rummaged the files

Cunning spoon of clerks engulfed


Coins. Mischievous officer told


“let bury in darkest hole”

For a official pension he trialled

thousand Kafka’s corner.


One day he dripped his head in kerosene oil around circle of crowd

Match box was going to strike


A self immolation aloud.


Paper rushed to his door

Drama and judgment

are conjoined  twins of democracy.


White whisker of the pensioner is now twisted up. 


I Seeeeeeeeee

 A Pink Postmodernist Crept In Pale Prague



Cold Coffee.           


The blotchy beam of  stagnant sun

on running chariot,

filtered in my netted window

descended in cup of cold coffee.

I caught the silhouette --

broken bangles on rectangular bier

and the vermillion box of the mother

stumbled, beside the pyre. 


An Iron Lady-- My Grandmother was a milk seller.

a great bargainer, sold milk for stories.

stored them in the mud huts.

I stole stories while she was sleeping.

A noon napper--

left behind a brook of viscus stories in melted marrow,

dining still in throat.


One day I thought to cut off

my unending throat,

but the chiselled scalpel

concocted in cold coffee.

It’s still regurgitating

belching, though I bolted  down,

hundred years ago--



The Bier’s Bench


The house moves but I don’t move

Whenever I move on toe--bypassing

The old house in day to day life --

I see the green mosses stuck upon

The window sunshade and withering

Plasters swollen and dropped down

This rainy season.


I relished chicken curry

And offered yellow oleander

In the tiny temple

All days are alive but mosses

don’t let me in and I don’t move--


I go ahead after inhaling

Fragrance of red roses

I never turned back though

They became pale after my departure–

It hardly matters to me.


The toughest lesson I learnt

Upon the bier’s bench

By peeling and counting the letters

Embedded upon the rectangular bamboo


Mingled and lost --

Among scattered rice grains.


Dr Pragya Suman is a doctor by profession and an award winning author from  India. Writing is her passion which she inherited from her father.  She also writes short stories and reviews which have been published in many magazines and anthologies. Surrealism,  prose poetry, and free verse, avantgarde are her favourite genres. Recently she won the Gideon poetry award for her debut book Lost Mother. Her second poetry book was published recently by Ukiyoto Publishing, Canada. Dr Pragya Suman is Editor in Chief, Arc Magazine, India. Her social media account is following Twitter : @DrPragyaSuman7 Facebook :  Pragya.Suman.50












No comments:

Post a Comment

One Poem by John Yamrus

  she was not your typical girl next door. to begin with, she had a name that sounded like a bottle of cheap perfume. but, she did have the ...