I am no exotic season
to do a flamingo dance
in graceful hand and neck
movements
as I read out a poem on political affairs
or shoot bullet after bullet
in a monologue.
Still, suppose
we were to sit down bereft of
the pomp and splendour
over a masala chai,
I’d like to ask
what good will it do
my dear man to clean up
the debris of broken people
and build a riviera,
how can it make them forget
dead babies
or the suffering stitched
onto their fates,
hear a woman say
she has lived in ten houses so far
and cannot point out to one
to say it is her house,
this is what
what living inside a war does.
***
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].
-30-
Copyright©Madras Courier, All Rights Reserved. You may share using our article tools. Please don't cut articles from madrascourier.com and redistribute by email, post to the web, mobile phone or social media.Please send in your feed back and comments to [email protected]
