Untitled by Chandramohan.S
- The Alipore Post
- Sep 13, 2018
- 1 min read
I
A poem curled up in a wrinkled
piece of paper- I read it.
Every reading
unfolds new layers
of previously pulped
meaning
between the lines
between the bars of Guantanamo Bay.
II
A word
lost from a poem
asks another for the way
back into the poem.
Both the words
accompany each other
to the poem.
III
When the police come to frisk you
They will first give you a name,
then distance themselves from you!
