Hrishikesh Srinivas 


Shore


               the sky another
the stars what you look for
               spume rolling over 
                              humps, fins
                                             sightings
               the planes and satellites cruising aether.
It was quiet that Easter night
               far from homely voices.
It is quiet this hazy night
               preparing for land
seconds falling 	years	 in for questioning
yet days surrendered to none but sore
cycles of rapid eye movement misplaced
and oppressive misspeech 	returning.
               There is nothing goes forth
               There is nothing there for
                              Who      Deserves
                              What     To serve
                                                            Your go you do  …
                                                                 					Can you?
               What the forms ask / don’t
                                      lives d / w	on’t tell
                               	_______ hide over crests	  
               why ranked 		 the bluest
as will acknowledge at any once
               and beat back and on restless one,



Road


               stretches.
               The car retches.
What are you waiting for?
               What were you going for?
Blows land as though by pulled strings
the danger of information its assurance.

In the dusk stables become impenetrable
horses shades of heat, grass honey leaks.
A tick 	a nuisance 	a traveller 	a Tiktaalik
a tock	’s up 	a lock 	at the end 	of the dock!
To a carillon toll carrying on as if
atoll tides 	you too belonged
               to a magpeyed moon.

Isn’t there too good a word for this fee l-ing
      that runs unchecked 				free
                                             In the env eloping atmos
fear: is one for the road is not one for a deserted island — 
               and it’s now you’re loath to check
                              where you are?



Busy


In the foreground headlong pure colour
               in the eyes a certain ty ’bove caparison.
                              The closing light of the sky br. thru clouds
                                             accreting grey through wild violet whiles.
                                                            People were milling around café tables
                                                                           setting hands clearing them chatting
                                                                                          letting theirs have it letting us looking
                                                                                                                                      over what others were having.

Hrishikesh Srinivas hails from Sydney, Australia. He enjoys reading and writing poetry, with poems having appeared in UNSWeetened Literary Journal, Hemingway's Playpen, Otoliths and Mantis. He was awarded the Dorothea Mackellar National Poetry Award in 2011 and the Nillumbik Ekphrasis Poetry Youth Award in 2013, also being included in the 'Laughing Waters Road: Art, Landscape and Memory in Eltham' 2016 exhibition catalogue. He is currently a graduate student in electrical engineering at Stanford University, USA.
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