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