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Wednesday, September 16, 2015

For Shakuni



Below the reign of pollen
Is a staircase where an
Ampersand awaits.

…and i throw the bones
of my forefathers
On the dusty Game Board

The dice cracks
            o   p   e   n – an atlas where
history
            b
            l
            e
            e
            d
            s
Cartilage boils to your whispers
Carthage and Hastinapur wake
In the slipping satin from
The tips of Time

And in the nucleus of sapphire
King Priam was already r i d i n’
on the minutes dripping
From the veins of crown
Shedding jungles of gold
Now a cluster of anemone
You decorated the slave girl’s
Hair with.

Did the moving stars not tell you
Termites will be the wise ones
with screeches of chariots  - lost
digested, safely

In their bellies?


Published in Contemporary Literary Review India

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