M-I-D-D-L-E RIDDLE
 
journal
new issue
- by shilpa kameswaran
total read - 2326
   

I was the middle child in a middle-class family
In a middle-income country
Through the middle of modernism
During the middle of a Marxist movement.

To miss being maimed in the middle of a mess
I left my middle-income country
In the middle of monetizing markets
With middle motivation to master.

But, I found myself marching
In the middle of meddling middle-income migrants
Of middle height and middle muscular mass
Minting in a country
That was in the middle of nowhere.

 
 
was published in November 2018
 
 
categories
 
Fiction
    Flash Fiction
    Short Story
Non-Fiction
    Essay
    Interview
    Narrative
Poetry
 
 
 
you may also like
 
THE BLUE HOUR
The moment when the exhausted stars, hanging in the fading ...
 
CUBAN FISH HEAD SOUP*
never say no to her propositions you wouldn?t even know ...
 
SHOP
Love is a picture. It needs to be framed Before it is ...
 
 
top articles in Poetry
 
  ABSENCE IS A CIRCLE
the small bits of brick & plaster laughing in the room / above / us / become a dance in deep cold / & the gaps in our play as evening falls into darkness / deep with black
 
 
bengal lights © 2017