Where Currents Meet
By Krishna Advani
The following poem is on the deceptively rosy picture that the past often appears as in the metaphorical ‘rearview mirror’, seeming to be far brighter than the colours of the present.
CAUTION: Objects seem brighter than they appear.
By: Krutika Puranik We are all pieces of what’s left of our parents. Your mother’s eyes, father’s ears, an aunt’s height. I often sit amidst my family and wonder if they see themselves in me. The way I slip a strand of hair discreetly behind my ear, the way my eyes turn into the colour…
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