Sanjeev Sethi


It was a phase, in your presence I
was semper paratus. Age or energy
are lazy breakdowns. Why is there
an urge to explain mostly to myself?
The heteroclite jolt us. We forget
we’re summations of our preternatural
bits. Vaticinations within lead me to
frontiers I fear, soon my misgivings
vacate. How do we counter pliskies
from the unbeknown to our comfort?


On trek to a budding friendship we speak
of falsity and its stench on talkfests. We
chat about this or that when a person I’ve
blackballed crops up. It is quality of query
that begets the reply. Another on the issue
evokes another answer. There is no flawless
question or comeback. There is no last word.


No one orders for me
gifts I am meant to grab.
In calignosity I wait
for eyes to adjust.
The thoroughfare
is sealed to be stiff.
We pick up the least
likeable parts of those
we apotheosize.
I’ve me:
the craic is with self.


In the bazaar I lose my way. I fail
to reach the stall I’m meant to. In
my study I’m on a surer footing.
Noise, the notional hooting doesn’t
get to me. A socko media catalog
is narthex through which the mob
forges an engagement with métier.
Paparazzi must be away. Brochure
is its own banner.

Sanjeev Sethi has published three books of poetry. A Best of the Net nominee (2017 & 2018), on the longlist for the Erbacce Press Poetry Prize 2018, his poems are in venues around the world: Poydras Review, Red Savina Review, Mojave He[art] Review, Formercactus, Poetry Super Highway, Persian Sugar in English Tea Vol III, Amethyst Review, Terror House Magazine, Ethos Literary Journal, and otherwhere. He lives in Mumbai, India.
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