Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
That summer rain cracked the earth
They tried to blame it on everything.
Siroccos blowing in from the Sahara
Curses left cremated, but only unto topsoil
Predictions screamed out from mountains and their mists
A bird flying north, right into the arms of hail
A lullaby of woman and whiskey, drifting across the shores
A cacophony of crows (or was it cries?)
And lastly, three half-trunks of mahua, solemn as priests
That summer rain split our bed
We tried to blame it on everything.
On desiccated nostalgia with its juices slaked
The cunning that hometowns preserve for their own
Palmyra sway eliciting the illicit melody of hope
Our bodies, bruised from quench and martinis drunk neat
The deep flesh copulation of our breaths and tongues
Memories of our ancestors, postulating in frames
On youth and two pairs of staccato eyes
That summer rain swallowed truth
Everyone tried blaming everything else.
Muezzins cried foul; pastors turned blue
Humans hoarded skin; was it going out of style?
Oblivious to the earth, the heart’s tangential beat
Its axis having tilted an inch; only the earth knew.
← Siddharth Dasgupta
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