Niranjan Krishna

something I like, is reading voraciously

unlike the shade covered parks, picnic baskets of bagels and croissants,

the perfect picnic of perceived to-be bookworms,

it embodies as an act of sublime violence



cramming one after another, and maybe after that the same

mostly the loots of pirates, the swirling seas of invincible digital-lords

type, read, scour the dictionary of a googol words,

community powered notebook on one screen, one out of four



physical books are an affliction,

intents and purposes – reading,

the hallowed possession sought after its completion,

the conquest done, the prize won



unless the bookstores are around, an exploration,

chart the unforeseen, the dusty shelves,

kisses and …

it has seen



i wish to collapse, under the weight of a thousand books,

the scrimmaging of reference in my other two screens,

proust, his wife and even his maid, as I’m violently strangling them all,

until the sun dips post-noon, I nap, the best one ever