In the swell of the river
that twists and turns
the world, the ashes
of my grandfather
swirled in a fervor.
The sun offers a favor
that I cannot refuse to ask.
Climbing the summit
reveals the sharp edges of grief
echoing, echoing
a cold mountain gust
cuts through my vertigo.
I ask the shepherding sun,
has the river reached the sea yet?
***
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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