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“I have been writing poetry since I was a little girl. I became a scholar, a wife, a mother, an old woman – and hovered in an ambiguous world of riddling opposites, that I tenaciously tried to capture in the fusion of word and image – lullabies of thought and image – that was like a chariot, a vessel that could hold life itself. Like Basho, I knew no other way, than the way of poetry.”

When a word is born as a dragonfly…


When a word is born as a dragonfly,

it snags memories, myths and metaphors

with razor-sharp mandibles from mid-air -

in calculated aerial ambushes

with a keen stare in slow motion

and a ferocious dare to feast on gnats.


Oh! may my words be born as these freaky fliers

with marvellous multifaceted eyes -

to perceive the ultraviolet

on the top of blue, red and green

hunting the elusive human dream

of resting in the hovering.

































Dragonfly flight - Senryu 5-7-5


when a word is born

as a dragonfly, it snags

meaning from mid-air


words are freaky fliers

rustling an old-paper sound

in their dragonfly flight





“Writing down these thoughts, I realise that “the only thing worth falling in love with, is the word itself” – that writing has become a way to hunt shadows, mine and the collective; continually researching, exploring, peering at the periphery, figuring out the edge of things, attempting to catch glimpses of changing and illusionary forms; pinning them down like dead butterflies on parchment with existing words, made-up words and sounds, with the fusion of words and images, looking through a macro camera-lens into the microscopic wonders of textures and writhing life, to catch the untouched and perhaps untouchable shadows in myself and the collective”.

(In Carrying Sand to the River)

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