A poem about
the death of democracy
must learn to breathe underwater,
know to sleep with open eyes,
think through fragments,
begin by finding its voice,
become a map of change,
peel the blackness from the walls,
overhaul the roof
with a new sky, wear songs
in the shades of truth,
be afflicted by love,
learn to kiss scars,
gather honey and poison,
outstretch towards the moon,
all in the reckoning, it can be led away
on a cloud of suspicion
or be charged under the severest
of statutes,
on some nights the loveless city
stays awake
afraid that stars may blurt out
the name of truth in dreams,
it is entirely possible
to comb through the hours
to meltdown, peel
an undertrial poem.
now in your head,
it grows into a scattered light.
***
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 editor@madrascourier.com.
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