Sathya Venkatesh
In Passing
The cow noses through a heap of roadside waste, patient as if this too were pasture. A torn plastic bag crackles between its teeth. It chews, pauses, chews again. A motorbike passes, then another. I stand there longer than I should, as if looking might change something. The bag disappears bit by bit. Its eyes remain calm, almost trusting.
late summer—
the empty trough
ringed with flies
About the Author
After fifteen years as a freelance content writer, Sathya Venkatesh transitioned to teaching English to government school students. She finds joy in poetry, travel, painting and Indian philosophy, which she feels deepens an understanding of self and fuels her creativity. She’s published haiku in various journals, including haikuKatha, Cold Moon, Shadow Pond, and Autumn Moon. She lives in Coimbatore, India.