dog eat grass. grass eat man.
november rain is like that
whatsapp forward-
a funny looking man one side
& a funny looking woman
upside down.
my great grandma
died while boning fish.
she just fell over
like a daruma doll
like an impossibility.
my friend texts me from delhi- bhai, it’s like a furnace in here & we got tickets for the india-bangladesh tomorrow, exclamation mark, party emoji. grandma only had white saris & all a wonderful stainless. she washed more fish than a river & more tenderly too. I’d point at a flower & ask- what’s that called? at a bug- what’s that called? at a point in life you just start calling them whatever you feel like calling them, she says I name this sardine your grandpa! november rain is the stroke of the midnight hour- dark. november rain is the sound of angry insects banging on a glass door. I’d point at a rain drop & she’d say- a raindrop has a single jump yet look how eager it is to fall.
Ajay Kumar Nair is a student and writer from Chennai, India. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Rattle, Muse India, The Shore, Vita Brevis and The Bangalore Review among others.