Poetry at Sangam



THE NOMAD’S SONG by Ranjit Hoskote

Don’t judge me by this keel-hung boat
on which the river has printed its sleep.

Judge me by the thin red line that glows
where my finger ends and the sky begins.

Pilgrim from before the harsh logic of the plough,
I cultivate my mirages.

The horizons trail in my mind
like watered silk.