Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Mamta Sagar

Talking About Dharma/Adharma

hara hara mahadeva!
shouts from throats filled with poison
rend these bodies

poison in the throat
seeps into the vein,
poison of the mind
renders the body blue

blue poison spreads across the sky
turns the corals and pearls in the ocean’s depth blue
this is the time
the cradle of death swings with a lullaby
laa . . . laa . . . la lullaby

child, take care –
the butcher’s knife glistens
in the pool of flesh and blood
just two inches below the navel
sharpness slits through
even before the scream is out
manhood is proved and achieved

The breast, the vagina,
breast-milk, the monthly
flow of blood – have all
different meanings
in the politics of dharma

here, hands, feet, head, torso,
love, affection, sorrow
are all soaked in blood

a wink of sleep for the pain
a tear or two for the hated
a little compassion in the heart
that is dharma.

TALKING ABOUT DHARMA/ADHARMA

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Talking About Dharma/Adharma

hara hara mahadeva!
shouts from throats filled with poison
rend these bodies

poison in the throat
seeps into the vein,
poison of the mind
renders the body blue

blue poison spreads across the sky
turns the corals and pearls in the ocean’s depth blue
this is the time
the cradle of death swings with a lullaby
laa . . . laa . . . la lullaby

child, take care –
the butcher’s knife glistens
in the pool of flesh and blood
just two inches below the navel
sharpness slits through
even before the scream is out
manhood is proved and achieved

The breast, the vagina,
breast-milk, the monthly
flow of blood – have all
different meanings
in the politics of dharma

here, hands, feet, head, torso,
love, affection, sorrow
are all soaked in blood

a wink of sleep for the pain
a tear or two for the hated
a little compassion in the heart
that is dharma.

Talking About Dharma/Adharma

hara hara mahadeva!
shouts from throats filled with poison
rend these bodies

poison in the throat
seeps into the vein,
poison of the mind
renders the body blue

blue poison spreads across the sky
turns the corals and pearls in the ocean’s depth blue
this is the time
the cradle of death swings with a lullaby
laa . . . laa . . . la lullaby

child, take care –
the butcher’s knife glistens
in the pool of flesh and blood
just two inches below the navel
sharpness slits through
even before the scream is out
manhood is proved and achieved

The breast, the vagina,
breast-milk, the monthly
flow of blood – have all
different meanings
in the politics of dharma

here, hands, feet, head, torso,
love, affection, sorrow
are all soaked in blood

a wink of sleep for the pain
a tear or two for the hated
a little compassion in the heart
that is dharma.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère