Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
After my death I will live as a tree
Whose fallen leaves a poet will save
in the folds of a book
On whose branch a wayfaring bird
Will sing a void-dispelling love song.
And as a river I will hear all sorrows, cry to them
And save my tears in myself—
I will witness the coming togethers
I will witness the falling aparts.
I will be an abandoned house
Whose warden never returns,
Whose broken windows are battered
By cold winds from the sea.
After my death I will live as a boatman
And sail over the horizon
Or wear paper wings and fly to mountain peaks.
After my death I will live on
As a dead language
With no script
And no poets.
I will be a handful of grain
Which kills hunger forever
So that no one has to sell their kidneys anymore.
After my death I will be a land
Where humans are costlier than cattle
Where a word of protest doesn’t earn a bullet.
After my death I will live on
In those who know how to fight for a heritage,
In those who have homes but no country.
I will live on as the struggle of a tribe without a lineage.
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