Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
Mid-cry he began composing
like a river splitting into a fresh stream,
and at the final note,
his chains loosened and
the prison doors opened.
Is there no end to what
the lord will do for twists
in the chorus?
Lord, I composed to you
every morning a straight line of verse
that, once or twice, you kept time to.
Bathwater fresh in my curls, I sang
each day. Then the world was
locked down. The theatre,
the classroom, the temple,
the market and each family’s front door,
shut. Poems changed. A few new words
in the refrain. Lord with ears quick to tire,
the trick that turns poets’ words sharp
has gone too far. Even the best lines are
coming undone. The stream, thinning, sweetening,
has dried. What song can surface now?
Lord who conjures the chains,
what still moves you to keep kings
kings and your poets, prisoners?