Anitha Krishnan writes Indian-inspired fantasy fiction with a dash of mysticism and soul-searching. She lives in Burlington, Ontario with her husband and their cherished child.
poetry
O flittering butterfly Let your colours bleed on my petals Brush your weightless wings against my cheeks And make me blush crimson and scarlet Bring me stories from other gardens Tales from the fields you cross, Tell me about the fragrant roses you kiss And about the damsels who yearn
poetry
A melody somewhere drifting carelessly towards the setting sun leaving behind her abode in the bow and strings where the violinist had tucked her away, forgotten Where then are the verses, I ask All the stories are yet to be spun for the love, she says, is frozen in the
poetry
I am the wisp of the smoke That escapes from your lips in a whirl.. I am the ripple of the stream You touch me and I dance away in a whorl.. I am the dream you see with eyes tightly shut I play with your mind And die when
poetry
Mine is the song of the wilderness The ecstatic dance of the untethered Pity not my caged existence True, Many lands I can no longer tread But my spirit remains unfettered by doubt and fear I am present and infinite as Time There is nothing to wait for, nothing to
poetry
What need have I for a princess’s jewels When I have a frangipani perched on my fingers? What need have I to swathe myself in velvet and cashmere When my skin is singed like sienna and burnished by the sun, And within it my heart is sheltered? What need
life, unadulterated
This picture was taken from a particular spot on the footbridge over the Geylang river near my place. (It is apparently Singapore's first suspension footbridge, built way back in 1998.) I don't quite remember when I started to do this, but each time I cross the
on writing
... your responsibility is not to the people you’re making the gift for, but to the gift itself. ~ John Green
life, unadulterated
Life in Singapore
life, unadulterated
In my nearly four years of living in Singapore, not one day has passed when I have not lamented in my head (or even aloud) about the non-existent shifts of season on the island. But if you live here long enough (and I do think four years is a very
books you may love
I can't quite remember how I stumbled upon this book but after reading the first few pages - a courtroom scene and an unexplained death - I was hooked. Professor Sam Madison, the narrator, is being tried for the death of his wife Sandrine, whose death is initially
on writing
Making a wish on my special day
poetry
Keep calm and carry on When the world around you crumbles Wrap your cloak around you a little tighter And stride across the shambles For the world has many a way of Sorting itself out and once again standing tall So you do your bit as you march on ahead