2 min read


Memories of Walking Barefoot

Summers in my hometown are sweltering hot

Last of the palash flowers dry out


Hell moves closer to the blistering ground

Wheat shimmers like gold in fields


We sit in the constant hum of the air cooler

The smell of khus carries everywhere


My sister and I lost in videogames and cards

My grandmother makes some bel sherbet


There is space to be eclectic in this routine

Time has melted, sleep tastes sweeter


There is a lightness in none of us realizing

We will get a handful of summers together


My sister keeps losing her flip flops and

She keeps stealing mine - the ground 


Crackles under our feet and I think

Of devotees who walk on embers


Mother scolds us for running without shoes

your feet will get corns she says


We ignore her and continue to chase each other

Screaming threats, hurling curses with love


Two decades later our summers have stretched across 

thousands of kilometers in global warming 


She screams at her boys while she tells me of

her plans for summer break over the phone


I unconsciously scratch the corn on my foot

Sitting in the silent vacuum of my air conditioned room.



A Takeoff on a Passing Remark

Late evening one summer my mother 

tells me I should have children


Warm breeze hints a downpour 

and I shudder at the thought


The sky is turning lilac and its shades 

of marigold match mamma’s sari


I listen to the hum of generators

roaring a few houses away


I daydream of being a mom

to a baby with wicked curls


Ma says motherhood is a depth 

of emotions never experienced before


I know the one she is feeling 

right now - it’s helplessness


She takes her horse to the river 

and she waits


I’ll stay by your side, she assures

clutching her bad knee to sit down


Our roles reverse and I lose count

of the parts I feature in these days


Electricity flashes, a jolt shakes 

the ground beneath


We hold hands through the echoes

Counting seconds under our breath


Where there’s light

there’s thunder.



In The Country of Resurrection

The spider plant you asked me to take care of, died.

It was my mistake--I ignored it far too long.


My eyes hypnotized by shiny screen

Fell blind to its vermillion leaves,


The green turned pale and shrunk at the edges,

Embarrassed living in such gross neglect.


I overcompensated and gave it a bath

(I know you said it must be watered once a day).


You asked me to move if it gets droopy,

So I drove around till it was dark again.


On remorseful return I met a carcass,

Parched in heat, shocked by betrayal 


Dangling in disappointment I saw 

hope spiraling towards gravity


Riding on the remains of a dying plant.

A native of tropical West Africa


slaughtered with apathy in my window.

It left a baby spider plant behind


It protrudes with aspirations

I believe in 

I’m nurturing the offshoots 

till you return.


And I promise 

by the time you’re back; 


we both 

would have grown.





Shubhi Dixit is a spoken-word poet based in Pune, currently living with her two cats. Her work explores themes of depression, aging, capitalism, relationships, and often tells vivid, heartfelt stories through poetry. She has performed at platforms like TEDx IISER Pune and Airplane Poetry as a featured poet and won the Pune Poetry Slam by Bullock Cart Poetry in 2020.  

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