Poetry at Sangam



BAGAN, FIELD OF MERIT by Priya Sarukkai Chabria

Night sky: we live under stars we don’t see.
Daybreak: weaver birds flit from hanging nests to call over water and lotus pollen. We hang
between each reflection, the rest passes.
Morning, afternoon, evening: drive your restless heart day after day after day after day
through mud roads and heat, waiting for sunset to end this monotonous splendour. Thousands
of pagodas — scattered pollen –rise like palms pressed together as far as the eye can see.

While departing realize the earth has as raised itself up in prayer.