V. S. Rakenduvadhana is an Indian writer, poet and visual artist based in Helsinki. Her diurnal energies are mostly devoted to her work as a neuroscientist. While pursuing her scientific quests, she has had a lifelong nocturnal affair with art, philosophy and music in its many forms. Her poetry, fiction and visual art works are now emerging in some literary magazines including The Vital Sparks, The Abstract Elephant Magazine and Camas, while she is working on her first novel.
Artwork: ‘Right Eye Perched Upon A Snowflake’ by V. S. Rakenduvadhana & Bartosz Mazur
Oppian Fraternities of Helsinki Snow
Helsinki snow descends; speckling the asphalt without an iota of nonchalance, and lands with the percussion of arenose ether. The wheels of my bus pave heaving lines upon that newly descended snow and sunder the Delphic air; as I watch from within the locomotive.
The brumous soil mingles with the snow and unveils the abstruse in every speck. White noise adorns the metropolis like a bejeweled comb upon its tresses. I write the 14th segment for Wallace.
XIV The blackbird witnesses in the snow, The frigid digits And Lamarckian strides. Its right eye Perched upon the involute song of the snowflake. And its left eye Meandering the grotesque motif of endeavor The blackbird watches.
The verse lodges like a splinter, then burgeons like rapacious mosses upon the poem where it cannot belong. The poem tolerates the verse; for there is snow.
I never learn the routes of the bus; in the many years I take the bus. The turns, the streets and the stops; all startle me equally, as I chisel metaphors and inhale the sibylline frost. Stochasticity determines the weeds that survive the snow; and the metaphors that depart the bus.
I encounter the cologne of an old man, seated before me in the bus. The olfactorality of his plumage disseminates his erudition of the occult, and the Meta. Soon, he points me to his two visually and olfactorily identical brothers. We decide to get off the bus together.
We talk about the punctilious Helsinki snow and its lack of reluctance. The four of us dream the snow would pervade all of my poesy; annihilating the ingrained hesitance that presages every word I write. We perambulate the city, then its outskirts; then walk through the woods to summit a hillock. We hoist a flagless pole upon the snow and descend; as four identical brothers.
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