Untitled by Chandramohan.S

Art by Shivani Javeri


A poem curled up in a wrinkled

piece of paper- I read it.

Every reading

unfolds new layers

of previously pulped


between the lines

between the bars of Guantanamo Bay.


A word

lost from a poem

asks another for the way

back into the poem.

Both the words

accompany each other

to the poem.


When the police come to frisk you

They will first give you a name,

then distance themselves from you!


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