Amit Chaudhuri Poems

Apples still come from Kashmir
pale pink in crates in winter’s market.
...

In my cousin's mansion in California
my uncle and aunt, tourists
saw it separately.
...

The watchman waves. The garage door
stutters open. It’s dark inside, dark. Grope for a switch.
‘Where are you going?’ We’re going somewhere not dark,
somewhere clear and sunlit,
...

There has been writing for ten days now
unabated. People are anxious, fed up.
There is writing in Paris, in disaffected suburbs,
but also in small towns, and old ones like Lyon.
...