Saturday, 1 August 2020

Chandrama Deshmukh, Poetry 2020 Longlist

An Abandoned Dance


We have directions
Of a lost map
That leads nowhere
A miraged universe
An omnipresent pause.

Someone once told me
You are your own prison
And since then
I see birds everywhere
Sleep-walking
Chasing delusions
Shrinking into coherence.

I tore my map
wrote poems on it
And made paper-boats
That glow in moonlight

Now
My existence whirls
In an abandoned dance
And the ink-stained wings
Are drawing
Their own astral map

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