Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
The history of our race
begins with the place of stories.
We do not know if the language we speak
belongs to a written past.
Nothing is certain.
There are mountains. Oh! There are mountains.
We climbed every slope. We slept by the river.
But do not speak of victory yet.
An obscure place haunts the hunter.
The prize slips away.
Yesterday the women hid their faces,
they forbade their children to speak.
Yesterday we gave shelter to men
who climbed over our hills
for glory of a homeland, they said,
those who know what knowing is,
and now the sleeping houses, the men and the villages
have turned to stone.
If there is no death the news is silent.
If there is only silence, we should be disturbed.
Listen, the tone of a prayer is hushed…
If a stranger passes this way
Let him look up to the sky.
A smoke cloud chases the ants,
See! They have slain the wild cat
and buried the hornbill in her maternal sleep.
The words of strangers have led us into a mist
deeper than the one we left behind-
weeping, like the waving grassland
where the bones of our fathers are buried
surrounded by thoughts of beauty.
There are mountains. Oh! There are mountains.
We climbed every slope. We slept by the river.
But do not speak of victory yet.
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