Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
An edible flower grows in the Himalayas
Just imagine – rice and pork fry
And then you pry open and eat
The flower’s clit.
But isn’t this the Himalayas?
No, just the Purvanchal
Look at the poet, look look, he must have written a poem
Oh Purvanchal, the North and South of my heart!
I usually sit with my left foot under my arse
Today it’s both feet on a stool
and the pressure on my coccyx-
45 degrees for maximum support.
He left me for this girl, this?
A little obvious, don’t you think?
Meeting her just a day before… he’s calling.
No, don’t go. Tell him that the Navagraha hill is flooded.
Little bunny foo foo boops field mice on the head
A little fairy comes down
My brother was born during the curfew. My father was
Supervising an ICT project on the NTPC.
Arundhati was born in a car
In Catalonia, a young girl gave birth in the trenches, Orwell said.
Little bunny foo foo got crazy in the car.
She didn’t want a seatbelt and was thrown around.
The first time she cried before going to school
All my strength and I couldn’t restrain her.
Mother, rub my face.
Do this baby, wave your hand like this
Then turn and wave them like this. Good.
Now see, your face is all fine.
Should I give you an injection, foo foo? Look, look
She’s giving us the peace sign now.
We look like a line of tribal woman
carrying food for their husbands.
Big boys eat late. Big boys eat at night.
I put my hands on my boss’s shoulder and ask
Who doesn’t eat mutton?
Be men, fetch your own food.
The fan’s neck is caught in the branch and now
It turns
Like
The
Terminator.
We Assamese complain a lot,
hence the terrible reviews.
Give us this, give us that, now give us a blowjob!
You are a left hand eater?
Yes, yes. I do everything with my left hand except write.
For writing I am ambidextrous.
You should come, you know
We have this 80s boom boom party.
Do you still make canna oil?
Yes we made a gallon last summer
And baked some muffins with the leftovers
Our cat came sniffing
And everyone gave him a bite until he was fuckin…
Someone’s reciting, someone’s retching,
His holy pretentiousness is nodding
He might not know the lyrics but he’s a slave to the rhythm, man!
← Shalim M. Hussain
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