Cross

Translated from the Guyanese Hindustani by the author

To mourn an impossible life—
we have become objects of a King

we will never see.
All water has become black.

The Ganga River reaches the ocean—
all ocean has become the Ganga.

The boats we took are haunted,
spirits crisscrossing the far shore to here

unaware of hope or pain,
instead feeling the sharp prick of thirst.

Were I to wear a dress could you guess the color?
Yes, you, whose tongue Demerara sweetens.

What, did you think you were not complicit?
I have already said

all water has become black water.

Source: Poetry (September 2025)