Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
At dawn my mother wakes from a dream,
A nightmare,
And finds herself in her true being:
She has always been this woman.
The plants in her courtyard
Are bespangled with dewdrops.
The sunrise is cold and misty.
The moon, slender,
Otherworldly white,
Is still visible.
In these moments
When night merges into day,
My mother prays.
She prays for the souls
In the heavens
Who glow
With the sacred, humble music
That her prayers carry:
Arabic verses,
Urdu whispers
Rendered in Ahir Bhairav.
And then she waits
For the birds
As she fills the mud birdbath
With fresh water.
The birds which will arrive only later.
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