Monday, 25 September 2017

Poetry 2017 Featured Reshma Ramesh

Small Hands of Sivakashi

They say that even birds that do not fly have wings
And Jasmines open like umbrellas in the rain,
In such a world, in all its fairness tiny hands of Sivakasi
 Shining in silver like jari on Amma’s pattu sari
Rolling, rubbing, dipping aluminum onto paper
 Sulphur filled nostrils, mercury parched scalp
Are building a legacy of blushing cheeks and gun powder
Rotting like a bad fruit in dark windowless factories
The small hands of Sivakasi are busy at work
Tying and untying bijlis of hope,
But these things happen every other day
Somewhere in the corner we know that they exist
And there are people who for money
Scald children with all their consciousness
And yet we drive to the open ground on Diwali
And buy boxes of fire crackers, especially for our
Children so that back home together all of us can
Burn these small hands of Sivakasi until
The sky lights up and the earth below is filled
With ashes and they the small hands of Sivakasi
Are buried with their mouth open.

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