5 Poems by Ankita Anand

Against the dying of the light

When empty rhetoric boasts
You have to brace immodesty
And raise a few toasts
To a nobody like yourself, and to the noble souls punished for their quiet honesty.


i have
for my country.

from the calluses on my feet
to the etched sun on my face,
bear witness to it.

and while i realise
that all i did were selfish acts performed for myself
because so many of our interests are tied together,
and while i know,
it is a mere drop
from the ocean
i am capable of giving, hope to give,

I shall not stand at ease and pay attention
As you spout forth on how I should love my country, how I should bay for others’ blood to prove the purity of mine
But remind you that I have held by breath to be able to hear its cries
When you were busy talking down to it.

© Ankita Anand




The sun trapezed over my knuckles

When I picked up warm wheat

By fistfuls

Put out to dry by my grandmother

After it was washed and scrubbed.


It would leave in me

Heat, imprint, smell.


Now our packaged flour

Slips right through

The gaps between my fingers.


Those birthed by the earth

Do not hold each other any more.

We maintain sanitized contact

Mediated by steel and plastic.

© Ankita Anand




“Oranges are expensive all around this year.”

When the fruit seller said this,

I quietly accepted his price.


No, I am not so naive

That I wasn’t infected

By a glimmer of suspicion.


But my apprehension about being duped was negligible

When faced with the fear

Of losing my ability to trust.


© Ankita Anand


Heroes must fall

No room for those who perform
“nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love”
And, at times,
Are human enough to err

We’d rather sculpt heroes,
Carry them high above our heads
So we can pretend we can’t reach them,
Can’t do what they do.

As the burden grows heavier,
And we, as they,
Falter under the weight
We drop them by the wayside as sinners.

© Ankita Anand


Modern day presidential



Hands are crucial.


Hurricane hands

Grabbing pussies,

beautiful pieces of ass

Building walls

Tearing through gloves,

insisting on getting themselves dirty

Trashing women cards

Fidgeting around nukes

Ruling the world

Rocking own cradle


© Ankita Anand


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