Poetry at Sangam



Being Seventeen, Being Boys by K. Srilata

It’s cricket in the blazing heat
and they are back,
a glisten of faces,
grime-trail on the bathroom floor.
Over tall mountains of rice,
a brief hungry silence,
and then, the ribbing-each-other
about school crushes and missed catches.

And to think that they are done,
nearly done,
being boys.