At IGI Airport, New Delhi
by June Nandy
Prison alters; different appearances
for the same thing. Chains translate
gravity. Align with its tinsel-thread, you
will resurface in a cage, washed in honey;
whisperings of promises. A promise is
a choice, a path to bind, in the duty-
free shops before you can fly.
Choices are tucked into shelves. The
sign: A wine, never seen so fallible,
will soon be shoved in a duffel bag
by a spent traveller. A seaweed mask,
for an exhausted face peers out of
the mirror; it will pull a woman. But
first, she’ll kneel, to pick up the brittle
bergamot leaf that slips out of
the book of no-exit.
And that little girl, staring at the vending-
machine. What would it mean to stand
beside her, teach her to feed a code, of
what she wants, to pay the price, wait
for the meanings locked inside to tumble
out. If you were really there, would you
draw on the glass-cage, a bird, set to
take a flight, beyond bounds.
June Nandy’s recent works have appeared in Commonline Zine, Certain Circuits, Up The Staircase Quarterly, and elsewhere. She has an award-winning poem in the open poetry contest, 2009 with Prakriti Foundation, Chennai. Her novel Ideospheres of Pain, which advocates for an ideology-free world, has been released in India. She has been nominated for the best of the Net Anthology 2010 and best of Dzanc Books Web Anthology 2011. Her new poetry collection, The lines must die, has recently been released by Cyberwit.net, India. Her poetry and other details can be accessed at her website.
qarrtsiluni 