Poetry at Sangam



ENEMY ACTION by Ranjit Hoskote

The basin is a cool white oasis after nine hours on the trail.
A ghost is studying you from the mirror.
You rinse your hands, wait for his attention
to waver, then grab him.
He dissolves in a rain of scratches.
You stand there, holding a pair of black gloves:

an unshaved stranger in torn combat fatigues.