"1947, a found poem,full of erasures in historyof India and Pakistan."

"People drink democracy in a glass of teabut night falls, again."

"my father holds a veenaadorns the posture of Saraswatirecites from the Sangam in Tamil,utters hymns for dry rivers."

"The language of a river inscribesover eyes of moths and fliesthe navel of the land is a lake."