Cloudless, cunning silver sky burns like
Underground coal mines in the silent summer.
I awake dreaming of another winter
Stretch my tongue
Maternal language melts on my insatiable lips, and
I lose my mouth and youth in her thighs.
What has become of me?
I close my eyes, exchange my body with her –
There is not enough space for peace in the coffin, and
There is no harbour for memories any more.
Smeared with blood, a lump of earth in my throat
I travel with red-robed wandering fakirs
Winnowing dusk of autumnal darkness.
In the bitter rains of false edicts and proclamations
I see my father
Harvesting sorrows of our land, and
Grieving at the tomb of my sisters and brothers.
The hurricane ripens in the sea –
I take cover behind her purple breasts.
Slowly the poisoned moon’s top arc disappears.
I open the door –
The morning air smells of the night’s bonfire.
Suddenly a crimson-cinnamon joy erupts, and
Fasting sparrows whisper prayers for lovers and martyrs.
Published with permission.
Ashwani Kumar is a poet, professor and editor of Rivers Going Home.
This selection is curated by Yamini Krishnan.
