Sanjeev Sethi


In aridity I have planted grass and greenery.
Thicket and some trees. It keeps me going.
When faced with the palpable, eyes ripen
to moist repositories. There is pain as in
perdition. I stew myself in a sheaf of papers.


In this humming and hustling does
anyone hear themselves? My ears
are good-for-nothing. The babble
and bedlam have overtaken our
bedrooms. There is no balsam.

Sonance has an addictive savor.
One joins the jangle in the belief
combinative strokes will lead to
well-being. Reconstruction places
the floodlight on the premiss.

Circa 1980

Palm tender like a poem tempts me
from incarceration of another ilk. I
place faith in the feel of your thumb:
on hoofs of haste as you hike pace
in the reined in milieu of bloom.

The affricate of joy has never been
as oozy. I’m a galoot. In multi-media
readings head turners score. In sooth:
there is no race, no perfect winner.
This isn’t the Olympics.

Death Diary


In nearness of breath
I corral
I’m a cadaver
to sophism and snow jobs.
Vendors of treachery
belong to another troupe.
Here it’s my music: for me.


Your quiet ways and words
pepper our prompts.
Sieve of sentiments bond us.
Furtherance of sense and sanity
we take it you’re in a fine place.
Ours will be unflawed, too.
Unfinishedness is in bud.

Sanjeev Sethi is published in over 30 countries. He has more than 1300 poems printed or posted in literary venues. He is joint-winner of Full Fat Collection Competition-Deux organized by the Hedgehog Poetry Press. His recent outings: The Fictional Cafe, Ephemeral Elegies, Trouvaille Review, Nauseated Drive, Gold Dust Magazine, M58, The Poetry Shed, Good Dadhood, Rochford Street Review. He lives in Mumbai, India.
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