Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
Eyes of dry berries, they looked through my skin
down by the river, the ferries’ honks they sang
sat with hands folded and legs tucked inside hulls
their mouths playing tambourine and drum
going tra la la la over the city clouds in photo frames
cheeks of papier-mâché and their nails new moons.
When do you see your little one by that river, we ask
when we gather around the memory pit, deep and dark.
Their hands play a line and the elbows on the strings
they don’t say a thing.
They say
tra la la la la.
They go
tra la la la la.
Their rapture. The tin-band men from my past.
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