We’re worried about violence
in houses built upon termite mounds
our bowels sick
of laxatives / sick of water.
The streets are razed / our clothes forced
to mean something
and the government /
proposes a ban on blood in movies
because somehow / we’re all still
so much in love. The idea
of a word / as part of the vocabulary
becomes shameful / and we get used
to people with quiet / quivering lips.
Soon— /we’ll all be afraid of names.
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
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