Poetry at Sangam

Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.

by Shailza Rai

Dead.
Not yet.
Not yet the fingers
sapped off blood that rises from the naval
courses along the maze
sketched by whom?
Who having given it shape
quite forgot
how to wander out
of the sentient walls
of nerve endings.
Who
trapped in this pyramid of flesh,
blood
incomputable responses to
grief
anxiety
passion
love
fear
despondence
hatred
rust
 
Burnt sienna
squeezed out on a palate
a hurried stroke
can’t die
trapped in the fug of
what can be,
should be,
can’t be,
will not be, 
will be.
With nails the fingers dig
deep into the red earth.
sketching paths she has taken
will be taking
will not be taking
to come back
from nothing
to nothing. 

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