Nivedita worked at Thomson Reuters, India before she moved to Wisconsin in March 2015. A published poet and a freelance writer, she blogs at nnivedita.com. She has also cofounded a publishing press called Nivasini and is now working on Wribel, an initiative to encourage new writers.
An Editor writes
When I hold the nib
or place my restless fingers on the keyboard.
I do not miss the commas, the periods, the ellipses, the semi-colons,
the perfectly structured sentences.
I smile at this symmetrical piece
and retire to bed.
The poem returns in my dream and moans
I did not mould it
I did not sleep with it, I did not breathe it,
or live with it.
Like a well-dressed pauper,
my poem weeps.
We never knew
[collaboration with another poet]
These roads, lanes, and streets –
our stories of yesteryears…
waiting for the school bus with heavy bags,
chuckling like idiots.
Watching that half-moustachioed boy
who always waited for her —
When they looked at each other.
The bus driver never waited for us
Even if we pleaded, yelled
– all in vain, thus!
The streets saw us,
during games of I spy,
hiding behind old cars
naively each other’s cheeks
in this same car .
From 1990s to 2015s
in fast forward we grew
We just never knew…
The moon handcuffed the hands of the clock
Yes! When you came closer to me under the twilight
— that forbidden night.
The night when we were to study for our exams
on the pretext of a query you came home,
you knew no one was there! didn’t you?
And you came closer, pretending deaf.
Wish I hadn’t become dumb
as you swallowed my breath
beneath my metallic teeth
and my dupatta covered your skin
Goose pimples clothed us
as we passed a test
beneath those sheets.