Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










[TRIVENI INTERLUDE#2 KATHERINE MAYO TRANSCRIBES FROM MOTHER INDIA REMAKE] by Ranjani Murali

for “[a]h, yes–but the tea, you perceive, is gone“

 

Don’t mistake us, we left the new smiles back in prints

by derelict millhands. Bidding on redemption, the kind with

concrete and handpump, the tearaways went unedited. 

 

Never the hovering plagues, never the mystical panting

fakir, never oracles by banyan. Never still browline. Filling scarves, 

scooter, bales of cirrus, whatever ministration offers, we palate it.

 


Patenting our swishing? Can’t find the equipment for riffling

layer light? Pigment salt and see only eastman refractions cast nonlinear

earthenware, our favorite? No matter. Army of boatmen can sing stop. 

 

Mandatory priesting presented unto us. Father of pedantry,

father of trinket verse, father of burnished glossier, our

waiting to get ticket-stamps where road forked back into tree.

 

A series of taxonomically decanted noses. Swatting our homely

flies is busywork, no swinging patronymics rescue our 

atavistic playpens. So much bunting, the torpor, the torpor. 

 
 

RANJANI MURALI