3 Savita Singh Translations by Medha Singh

By and | 15 September 2022

Where my country stood

A wall stands where,
a few days ago,
there was a way,
where our desires
once stood, now
avarice attends.
Where there was yearning,
lust flares on.

Where happiness swayed,
a thick umbra of sorrow
reigns, where courage
existed, impotence.

Where my country
stood, there, stands
a marketplace.

Whatever sits there, something
like avifauna, isn’t quite the same.
A fish with opalescent eyes slithers
in the water, is actually
a useful weapon. Neighbours,
ordinary people turn spies,
gathering our particulars.
And the clerk, in the corner
of the bureau, does the kind
of work these days
that’s too big for his balls: noting
down the names, a hit list.
The state that seems to speak
for me is not mine, my country
captured by another.

It’s quite enough, when
what was once seen
there is not so, when what
was once there

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