-after Kabir No matter how often you sweep, dust gathers under your bed, and the TV is loud and shrill; it sounds like thunder and rust— but outside, across the main road, someone has hung out bright clothes, and the…
Poems about the dark times.
-after Kabir No matter how often you sweep, dust gathers under your bed, and the TV is loud and shrill; it sounds like thunder and rust— but outside, across the main road, someone has hung out bright clothes, and the…
-after Bertolt Brecht It’s straightforward; you know our history, so you will understand. Tyrants call it sedition when they think we are weak and an inconvenience when they know we are strong; the exploiters always say it is bad for…
To celebrate, on the day Munawar Farouki was granted bail, I went to buy a kg of guavas and oranges. The fruit seller asked if he could make change with one perfect banana and two handfuls of grapes. I said,…
-Republic Day, 2021 Somewhere winter wheat waits beneath cold soil and sky— soon, we’ll share a meal. The police give in: lakhs of tractors demonstrate people power, hope. I choose the farmers: they grow wheat and rice, not hate. Which…
You’ll Join Us, I Know, My Friend -for Umar Khalid It was late in a South Delhi warehouse, it was cold, but I didn’t feel cold; Umar Khalid was swaying to jazz, or was it hip hop? I looked over…
-a letter to W.S. Merwin Today I am reading The Moon Before Morning I should have read it years ago when a friend gave it to me but I was lazy and anxious it is filled with unpunctuated invitations to…
Many years ago, under the influence of something weaker than witchcraft, but stronger than black tea, I kissed a man with a beard. Our fathers worshipped different gods, but there was no mob that night, no police, no FIR— just…
-Christmas Eve, 2020 Tonight in Taloja Central Jail, Father Stan Swamy shakes but also rejoices; he knows that soon enough carpenters, fishers and blunt speaking women will join others who labour— in fields and factories, forests and homes— and that…
The dirt that clings to the potatoes you hold came from a farmer’s field. I dreamt a soft-spoken farmer taught me how to tell when the corn is ripe. It was still dark that morning we heard your uncle shuffle…
-for Manglesh Dabral We were on the run, and things were changing fast; one moment, we were huddled on a windswept rocky ridge in Garhwal peering down at an approaching line of police and pack mules, and the next, we…
-On the first anniversary of the CAA Yesterday evening, as we walked through Kotla Gaon, the clamour of a ragged wedding band mingled with the call to prayer, and for a moment, I swear, two bright sparks lit up the…
I’d just boarded a southbound train, or was it a DTC Bus? Maybe it does not matter; I got a seat all to myself. A man sitting four seats away beckoned me to come over; he looked like he’d been…
-for Varavara Rao It settled on me just before dawn the day after I came to pay my respects— heavy, like a thick wool blanket on a not-quite cold night. It stayed until the scratch of a distant grass broom …
When I hear the gentle cooing of pigeons outside my window, I think of Umar Khalid, and when I see crows massing against an approaching bird of prey, I think of Umar Khalid. I think of Umar Khalid when I…
-for Varavara Rao It’s easy to remember the slow shuffle back, the way the ceiling fan’s slow turn makes the hair on your arms stand up, how the morning light falls with such gentleness on every green, growing thing— how…
-one year after the abrogation A year ago, a plague was delivered upon a far-off northern region, and many of us in the capital understood this, but did nothing— because we were afraid and felt powerless, or because we told…
I was thinking of your poem, ‘When Moonlight Moves Into the Dark’ as a comrade and I walked past the remnants of one of Delhi’s once wild forests. From our left came the sound of rain soaked branches and wind,…
It arrives when you least expect it: dust dims the sky, doors rattle and bang— branches crack, tall trees bow, unruly dogs cower under cars. Sometimes, there is thunder and rain. It brings relief to those who labour and sweat,…
I want to sing you a sweet song tonight— the road you’ve chosen looks so long, tonight. When you were small, your dreams were full of dread; alone, avoiding sleep, you clung to night. Now fear and walls, and worse,…
As June slips towards July, the heat turns heavy and wet, our coolers don’t work like they used to, we pray for the rains to return. We read of atrocities daily; no one is watching the watchmen— we post angry…