Sunday, March 22, 2026

Biennale Diaries

Those godowns,
gracefully silent in its
typically humid
and mouldy past glory.
They once fed my father,
his mother;
and her grandson twice,
or even thrice, I hardly remember...

They fed aspirations:
A few were to play football,
many to trudge Westward,
and some to fight for
small pieces of land,
hoping to find peace in Kochi,
salvation in her fresh fish
and dream-gilded sunsets.

An unknown bricklayer’s toil,
these walls;
they get abstract splashes:
Geometric visions, asymmetric missions,
reflecting the incongruent,
esoteric aspirations of
a town lost to time, tourism,
and a migratory identity crisis.

And yes...
Art breathes life into them all.

Is there more to
the Biennale than what
meets the pilgrim’s gaze?
Yes... And yes, No!

For we are damned
to feel the waves, and creation
in fleeting, attention-starved steps
that warrant selfies for posterity.
The immortal light?
The laborer and the artist?
Obscurity at sunset, yes… In the
long shadows of coffee shops.

Yet, yes...
Art breathes life into them all.

-- Leslie


Tuesday, March 17, 2026

The Cold Shuffle

I shuffled Burman CDs, flipped records
for my grandfather once.
And played for him his youth...

What do I play now?
When my own soul seeks
an anchor from yesterday.

My blessings end there.
Damn! Am I seeking nostalgia
on an Android mobile?

There it is... My AI grandchild
gifts me warm, lossless songs
with cold, emotionless precision.

-- Leslie



Tuesday, January 06, 2026

Whispering Pebbles

All those pebbles,
they whistle my name​ in hushed tones.


It is I
who threw them
into our backyard pond,
breaking its silence,
its ​monochrome serenity,
and rippling its sane emotions.
The still water,​ a ponderer’s haven,
a pool to reflect,
became a ​storm
​posing questions behind my home.


Brick and mortar,
laid over the pebbles​ in earnest,
​forcing them to groan
under the load​ of a house
laden with life’s residual gifts.
But they still...


Oh, they still​ have the will
​to whisper my name.


-- Leslie