God in Lockdown
Breathe
in this concrete terrace. Enter
birds, blues in sky. Hear
azaan drifting nearby. Remember
you never noticed it back then?
Recall the mosque marked on Maps,
the one which bypassed your eyes.
Don’t try to spot it now. Sit still,
watch growing purple
dusk and dome of monument visited back then.
Recollect the centuries it took to build.
Listen to azaan, this soothing call to Allah,
a god you don’t believe in.
Take it in with your evening chai.
Shoo away mosquitoes worshipping
mounds of your thighs. Linger
in the warmth of your neighbors’ smiles.
Breathe tall, taller than the trees,
into the reach of birds and sky.
Ask yourself: if you believe in love,
why not God, especially when she comes
floating like a song?
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Kandala Singh lives in New Delhi, in a flat that looks out at Ashoka trees, and escapes to the mountains as often as she can. Her poems have appeared in Rattle, Eclectica, Rust + Moth, SWWIM, Every Day, Hindustan Times, and The Alipore Post, among other places. She reads poetry for Epiphany Magazine. You can find her on Instagram @kandalasingh.
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Stone Poetry Quarterly 