Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
(for Draupadi)
Strike! My heart calls,
exile me from this kingdom of hatred
to the odor of the unknown,
bred to start a war, instead
show me a destiny of love’s
maze of marigolds,
a new melody sizzles in my bones,
separate from my father’s anthem of revenge,
in this sabha people like pausing clouds before rain,
by my side, my father, revenge souring his breath, waiting
for the strike of the arrow to its mark—
first step to his mission—this irony of ironies! My ‘Swayamvaram’,
Self-chosen! Ha! My destiny was drafted a long time ago,
I stepped out of a fire fully sculpted by my father’s slithering rage.
It is not the rainbow arch of the bow
or the marriage of your pupil with the pupil of the fish,
it is the rippling arrow of your arm, the tree-trunk of your back,
the tanned curve of your cheek that sends a shiver through me,
I curl like a vine tendril, wanting to fit in your curves, be claimed.
When you drew your arm back, all of time drew back and I vaulted to
the source of my being, and found a new reason to be,
when your muscled arm pointed upward,
it slashed me like a sword. You stepped forward.
You stepped forward. Time condensed:
your thigh’s hazel sheen in the thin muslin,
my breath taut as a snake about to strike,
a possible world of intimacy parted my legs—inadvertently,
the smell of my jasmine garland exploded in my body.
You pulled the string.
You pulled the string, I vaulted to the sky for the last time,
How innocent I was! How was I to know love’s archway
loomed in the architecture of revenge,
someone was pulling us all that day on the strings from a greater bow,
I walked into the future, my unbound tresses smeared with blood,
a black wind blowing in the land for eternity.