Author: Krishen Mohan

POETRY | Paradise by Krishen Mohan

I dream, Of a wasteland, Of scattered mesas, Blackened to white. A landscape charred, To a dust fine, A palate of grays, Blown adrift, aflight. There are here yet, Diamonds in the dust, And hidden in the shadows, Cane amidst the dirt. Sour fruit fresh palate, This bitter a nectar, Never had I tasted, The sugar amidst the ashes. *** Cover art by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash. We’re looking for more short stories, poems and essays. If you’ve got some and aren’t shy to share it with the world, please drop us an email at editors@eksentrika.com. Oh, do read our Submission Guidelines...

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POETRY | Dapple by Krishen Mohan

And shadows cast in garden’s green, Belie shades of other selves, Broken in, Worn, like shedded skin. In the garden of the soul, There are flowers, that bloom, In the shadow of hands, Reaching out… Tender in their yearning, Careful not to bruise, These petals, in their prying. And they… The flowers… Open, in the dapple. *** Cover art by Ash from Modern Afflatus on Unsplash. We’re looking for more short stories, poems and essays. If you’ve got some and aren’t shy to share it with the world, please drop us an email at editors@eksentrika.com. Oh, do read our Submission...

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POETRY | Wakedness by Krishen Mohan

A wakedness is bleeding in, The weight of which crushes, Down into the earth, Pressed into a reluctant slumber. But there around the fringes, Though this  boulder sits heavy, Light bleeds in, Hinting freedom exists yet. The days race by, Choice turns to prison, A river runs dry, Dread and distant. The reaver of yellow, Stalks part from grain easy, A sickling blade bleeds hollow, Rash and ragged, hurried heresy. *** Header image by Benjamin Zanatta on Unsplash.  Hey guys, we’re looking for more short stories, poems and essays. If you’ve got some and aren’t shy to share it with the world,...

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POETRY | Careless Youth by Krishen Mohan

That I spoke in careless youth, You pressed me, Suffering no fools. That I spoke in careless youth, Too much I had been, Foolish a brute. That I spoke in careless youth, This chasm I turned, Blind my good eye, That I spoke in careless youth, No more, I deplore, Ravenous for truth. *** Header image by Papaioannou Kostas on Unsplash  Hey guys, we’re looking for more short stories, poems and essays. If you’ve got some and aren’t shy to share it with the world, please drop us an email at editors@eksentrika.com. Oh, do read our Submission Guidelines first. Here’s another poem...

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POETRY | The Morning Comes by Krishen Mohan

Ready to revel as mindless rebel, With a flag of no other, But mine own. This banner my skin, Hiding fool within. Let the morning never come, That this tongue may fly, Air dried, Flopping for chatter, Never for better. Let the morning never come, That I may let them spin, Unhinged thoughts twirl, Unfurl then hideous grin. Let the morning never come, In the night they rise, Sighing sophists be the wise, For the lack of light. Let the morning never come, Let this ride never end, Streaking down streets, Blurry signs a flurry, Moving going nowhere. Let...

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