Kalyanee Rajan


How is it you ask.
How should I explain.
Shall I say it is bad, which would mean that I am good.
Or shall I say it is good, and that it infests me still.
Let me say this.
It heaves and dips by degrees.
Infects me and gets infected, by turns.
Educates me and learns a thing or two.
It is a viral viral, an in thing,
some detest it, and many crave for it,
It mingles with the antibiotic to create formulations anew,
It flows and sets interim stations as it goes.
It makes me pour objectivity subjectively,
It's ambitions stumble loftily,
When it pumps great power via low grade capacitor.
It's methods are primitive and its temperatures fluctuating.
Massive tasks to be accomplished through one so variable,
It lies and is true, it rises and lies,
It's effects grey and blue, though it's only a viral,
I'd rather it stays nice and high, eventually to subside.

*(French. Tr. New Thought)

I think,
as with the Boeing,
when one escapes this body,
the faithful Black box must tag along,
(or is it the striking blue, or the fecund green or the menacing red?)
leaving everything else back here;
to be opened in (an)other world ,
and the verdict declared accordingly.
Truly enchanting.
No inventions.
Only discoveries.


Pain becomes the thread, a numbing emblem of existence,
And then we feel and we kneel in fervant prayers...

Pain weaves our whole being like granny's twin knitting needles,
And then we keel over senses and peel the layers...

Pain ebbs and flows, and churns the soul and twists and turns the will,
And then we try and wheel and deal through world's unfair wares...

Pain hits and throbs through the past and present, filling every little pore,
And then we steal and set the seal over future's untold cares...

Pain flares in the darkness and in the light, billing all of now and here,
And then we heal and we spiel life's closing hidden dares...



Dark coffees, ochre-grey skies, and winter evenings,
Set up a fascinating palette of humble closures and beginnings...

'tis never too late to discern and accept the foretold
Blessings quaint, tho' crafted from a different mould...

Sweet adversity teaches the much harried hearts like these,
To hunt for moments, of poetry, passion and peace...

Trained so far to engage with combat, such keen eyes,
In favour of nuanced conversations, unlearn the fights...

In missing the core, the essence, souls hitherto adept,
Wake up and rise, to acknowledge a karmic connect...


Gleaning melodies in the traffic, humming through those impatient honks,
Softening and melting longings of a lifetime, quite like the monks,

Fanning ardous but vital journeys, meant to be undertaken,
Letting long forgotten, emblazoned memories gently reawaken,

Into a momentous sea of warmth, and warm breaths,
As if unfolding and deciphering the cosmic intellect.

Kalyanee Rajan works as an Assistant Professor in English, Shaheed Bhagat Singh Evening College, University of Delhi. An educator and motivator by passion with more than a decade of experience, her areas of interest include reading and researching Indian Writing in English and translation, reviewing books of different genres, writing-reciting poetry in both Hindi and English, leading workshops on various aspects of teaching-learning, and, following natural sciences and global politics. She co-edits Lapis Lazuli - An International Literary Journal (LLILJ) ISSN 2249-4529, a refereed, peer-reviewed, and open access E-Journal.

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