3 Poems – By Latha Ramakrishnan



Time on a Different Plane

Almost exactly at the moment when I thought

of the sentence

that poets have a different time-zone

my wrist-watch stopped showing the correct time

and began to run erratically.

Though I could attribute it all rationally

to faulty mechanism

an eerie feeling did creep in.

Since then I have been travelling along

a different plane.

The time-zone, different plane

are these actual terrains

or mere fantasies of the brain?

Once again

I look at my watch

wondering whether it was Borges’ Aleph

or just a ‘whiff of breath’….

Right – Left – Right – Left

Turn About –

Guided and misguided by Time

the march continues topsy-turvy.



Rain Readings


No trace of Rain….

Raging heat seems to have

ascended the throne

once again.

Having no power to bargain

with the conspiring

elemental forces

this day wades along

an arid terrain

through horrid hours,

saving itself from swooning

aided by the fountain

inside the brain.

Is the Rain waiting for

an opportune moment

to shower its blessing

or stays away with intent –

to keep me guessing…?

Oh, why so?

Why not Come, See and Go

without turning into something

‘Long Long Ago…’?

To and fro

oscillates the pendulum

The micro-monitor screen

stays mum….

Yet a few more hours

or the day’s farewell…

With tolling bells

the yearning for Rain


Caught in a quagmire,

hope tends to wane

so the heart keeps bemoaning,


with eternal thirst for Rain


Half-cup full;

half remains empty –

In between these

two refrains

Life hangs

Humpty – Dumpty….

Though appalled,

I quickly take refuge

in the weather forecast,

[Far more reliable these days,

at last!]

that there would be rainfall

without fail….


Losing the essence


Indeed a very pathetic sight it is –

Seeing the butterfly without wings…

and struggling to fly;

to soar high…

The strenuous effort

taking away the sheen of its hues,

left high and dry

so softly it cries

the sound of which escapes even those nearby.

Standing away and witnessing its plights

I merely sympathize,

sporting even a bemused smile.

But, metamorphosing into that very insect

I turn bruised to the core;

could barely breathe….

Has it lost its heavenly wings _

Oh, when and where….?

Or, were they always

a mere semblance?

‘Better to have had it and lost it

than to have never had it at all’

They say…

Perceptions do change

on the brink of collateral damage…

Growing in age

is no gateway to heaven….

Wings intact

is what constitutes

Paradise Perfect.

About the author:

Latha Ramakrishnan  (Chennai, India)  is a poet, short-story writer, literary critic and translator;  she  writes poems under the pseudonym ‘Rishi,’ and short-stories under the pseudonym ‘Anamika’. She is also a well experienced translator of literary works from English to Tamil and vice versa. She has published several volumes of her literary works that include poetry, fiction and translated works.