Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
1.
I sit on the roof, watching
a sheriff interrogate
a pulled-over driver. He reaches
back for his ticket book,
the driver lifts her eyebrows,
her mouth moving
a sublingual lozenge.
The ticket book closes,
the sheriff starts
to turn away. Something
holds him fast.
A red soap container
flies out the driver’s
window. It shoots
up, far up, then stops,
surveying all below.
A dull voice from
behind me drones, Sir, do you
have a license to operate
an unmarred aerial vehicle
in an urban area?
I slip off the roof, let the wind
carry me where it must.
2.
Mamana Bibi, what is it
you do? I ask
the old lady in the ragged field.
Weeding my vegetables,
she claims. The Hellfire missile
ignites this much too unlikely
alibi. Her body burns. Now
her grandson appears.
Kaleem, why do you run so?
I ask. He keeps running.
The missile breaks his left leg, plants
deep in the meat a gash.
No Taliban, no weapons, no
hideout could be found,
they claim, in the shifting fields
near what they find
of Mamana Bibi. Please tell her
three granddaughters
who watched
the interrogation
of their grandmother, I mean
no harm. Tell them
Breathe in far, breathe out fear.
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