Poetry at Sangam



MOU by Ravisha Mall

I would rather pretend

to be reaching out

to touch a high branch,

blissfully ignorant

of your hand

stroking the edge of my skirt,

grazing the curve

of my supple bottom…

and You,

with all your age-old intellect

and worldly wisdom,

become enslaved

to a bout of lust,

which dodged reason

and passed through your fingers..

while I,

with all my nubile youth

and innocent visage,

wearily regard

another straying idolater,

paying homage to nostalgic desire,

and let it pass.