Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










FLOWERS, FOR WHEN MIDNIGHT QUESTIONS by Aditi Nagrath

At the ends of time, a radio host announces that it is, in fact,
ideal now for us to touch the fire. We are absolved of our pain

made between myths; they’ve forgotten about us. Our children
do not care about what we crafted of them. Come, let us pick

the cherries off their stems. Let us pluck you leaf and petal,
song and shin. The rain will come as we deem necessary; come,

let us ruin this perfect street. In a way, the light that beckons
is the same light that dims our laughter, calls us to death,

& it is too late for us to refuse its claims. I agree, we have a
whole life built, windows with sky inside, our delicate bodies,

even each other we could say we endure. What comes after
having though? A figure that descends or. A voice

that tells us there is no more need for that. Let us
take of here whatever we want.

 

ADITI NAGRATH