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Poetry – Spring 2019

An Evening in Hazrat Nizamuddin

A marigold rolls
on marble
like a hundred girls crossing their arms
over the closing eye of the sun.

Walking on Marine Drive at Midnight

The sea cuts its mouth open
and gurgles a lullaby for the
sleepless. The cities we love
grow in different dialects and

forget old dreams.


When the crumbling reaches your face,
you’ll have to keep calm,
because even your tongue
will fracture into fault lines.

ode to mehendi

i keep my hand pressed against foiled lace so not

to wrinkle a design so not to ball up in remission
at my mother’s feet with nothing but a child’s

dream in hand what if i wasn’t an only daughter