by Ajay Sawant
Sparrows with brackish blacks
On a hot, hot afternoon hop
stringently in sun pecking grains,
The Lu sweeps the grass to brown,
shadowed partly by fiery Gulmohar;
The gala gates squeal slithering
One hospital white; to next we run
barefooted with a swollen body
The light is harsh, our lips paper cut
yellow-orange fiery fire
The length of Jasmine blooms
is my short daydream
On starry nights like these, my dreams
stand on a thin popsicle stick.
Ajay Sawant currently serves as Editor-in-Chief at Globalage Poetry and editorial intern at Five South. He is a student from Pune of Maharashtra, India simultaneously pursuing B.A Hons. in English at IGNOU. He is an art activist and public speaker. His recent poems appear in Detester Magazine, Vayavya, America’s Art & Understanding Magazine and forthcoming in Xavier Review and The Louisville Review. Ajay can be reached on Twitter.