Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
We compose songs on a moonlit night, we sing humobauli and play hide
and seek, on the moonlit night, we as young couples go to the forest
we dance and celebrate surhul on the moonlit night.
You make that moon a weapon, centralising the moon create heaps
of literature; dabbling the moon with the charm from across the world
equate to the face of your beloved and sometimes you pluck it for
little Krishna when he denies eating rice. Of the night and for the reign
of the night, why such a trick, the illusion of the moonlight is deception.
The whole planet has a brook of moonlight, and the moonlight is
lifting me up to the sky, how fascinating to see down from up!
Elegant are the tin and asbestos of the displaced, thatched houses,
camps, the fresh blood of Sukru Jani who was run over by a Vedant
vehicle, the snow-like whiteness—-the bubbling dew; the face of
Kamala Majhi glitters even after she has been sucked, bitten, spit
and abandoned near the tent. The dam that swallowed 108 villages
is a wavy white blanket; there’s no sorrow nor pain. The cities,
villages, rivers, jungles and mountains are bathing in milk and butter
you taught, like this—man should go up from the land to see the earth
beautiful. I’m obsessed with the charming substance of the moon, even
during the day, placing the moonlight in my pocket, I roam around
wherever I can, switching off the sun and sowing the moonlight from the
pocket miles in all directions. I float and as the sun rises at once, I find
myself on the ground and I see I’ve bought a bouquet with the money
I should’ve bought insulin for my father. And all my social science books
are infested by termites, I’m kissing them as my beloved and reciting
rain poetry to the washed-off germination of the naked idols of temples.
At this time so many comrades have invoked me, they’ve gone since
long ago to slash the moon, the night and the darkness; some have
already been shot dead; I’m not able to move away from here and
repeating: the moon will fall off, I’m not taking my feet off my place
here the moon arises, here the moonlight’s inundates, here the
moonlight lifts me up and strengthens me, further makes me bold
oh, my co-fighters, lend me a knife, give me a cutter else hand me
a pen, I want to slash this moon into tiny pieces, I’m going!
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