Rolling dust of red-oxide all over
The body. You can write
But finger-nails overwrite; interferences & erasures
Halve the stories. Did you
Put a wager on my songs? A public parley
Between whims of angles & depriving the teeth
Of flesh. The only rod
We understand – disinherit. Life,
When looks back, is a pot-full of ink
That has all the pictures in it: a trapped environment
Because sunrays were eaten by body first.
Time keeps hitting its head on walls
Of meridians. We stop
Adjusting our wrist-watch. We go
Back: I take a book written by Rushdie’s grandfather.
You will shoot the sunflowers.
June Nandy’s poems have appeared in the Ucity Review, RædLeafPoetry-India Award 2014 Anthology & elsewhere. She lives and writes in Calcutta.