India;

It’s true.

 

I draw you with my toeless feet.

My fingers fell out as I passed your skin.

Drops of blood became your body.

Parliament ; Taj Mahal; Charminar; Rashtrapati Bhavan

Everything in your pride is my bloodstain.

I cannot explain it without fingers.

But a poem can do.

 

 

Dispassionately I closed my eyes.

The divided heart floated in the river.

Slowly I opened my eyes;

sun in the distance

-With red glitter-

The red that fell on me fell on you too.

I’m buckling to blossoms now.

 

S Maria Reagan works as a journalist. Poet with social consciousness. Released three books of his poetry. Submitted his PhD thesis in University of Madras. He has published research papers in poetry. He believes that only Marxist philosophy will give social independence.


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