Smita Agarwal: A Hidden Wordsmith

Here is a small poem I found in a book I’ve been reading for my exam. I couldn’t help but share it here. All rights go to Smita Agarwal (the poet) and the Oxford University Press! Soo many Indian women poets and hardly any readers.


 

The Word-Worker

(For Jeanette Winterson)

My eyes lick them off the page;

I chew them, suck the juices,

Let the flavours seep in. I am

The dreamer; words, the cocoon

I knit. Fixed for ever in the

Slim gap between alphabets

I am the saboteur, the hit-man.

Words scurry down dark lanes

Or brightly lit streets. I rip

Off masks, bequeath new skin,

Dragoon words into birthing

Faces never before born.


Now don’t tell me that the writer in yourself does not connect with it.

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