Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
The sky is low—presses upon eyelids
The sky lowers, skewers open the eyes
The sky is seeing, birds rest upon this nakedness
Their calls erupt from such a silence.
The wind is not any home, their calls are not yet song
Trees would have threatened our speech
But buildings have, there, sprung. And now
a concrete silence—
lies are alive
Death must be sought where truth rests in shadows
The empty vessel, upturned, clangs upon the floor.
A cockroach searches its steel surface, leaves no mark.
Athwart the birth of a rotten word, a more rotten silence:
steel-rimmed, flushed, tightened uterine wall.
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