To Agamemnon

The sun is crumbling away
in purple and gold, powder like you,
powerful soul, it is ageing
as it settles, heals our clumsy scabs,
perhaps slower than they should.

~

I said, stay. I said. Don’t go
fighting someone else’s war.

~

The menace, our Orestes
draws death nearer to me,
than you, than your words
yet farther still
than one can endure.

~

Why did you leave?
What good was it to die
without the love
that 
makes it worth
anticipating the end?

~

Your concubine, Trojan Cassandra
didn’t rouse hatred in our middle born
(who inherited your middling wit)
as did Aegisthus. You won that war.
How much more blood for Artemis?

~

How dare you leave me in your wake,
how dare you let your words
die with you. And without me,
how dare you, walk into the sun.

~


Here comes Orestes
pursued by The Furies,
and to them, I submit.

~


Now I roam in Hades
slow towards Iphigenia
who died for you
and waits for me.

 

Medha Singh

Medha Singh

Medha Singh is a poet from New Delhi. Her first collection of poems Ecdysis (2017) has been published by Poetrywala, Mumbai. Her poems have previously appeared in Nether, Muse India, Beyond Borders, The Bombay Literary Magazine, The Journal of the Poetry Society, and several others. She has bylines in The Hindu, Mtv (indies), Bordermovement, Rock Street Journal and Rolling Stone Magazine, where she wrote on music. She received her degree in MA, English Studies from Jawaharlal Nehru University. In 2015, she was part of an exchange program as part of her master’s degree, at Sciences Po, Paris where she read International Relations. She is currently working on her second book of poems and a short text on travel fiction. Her poems are forthcoming in the Sahitya Akademi and Red Hen anthologies of Contemporary Indian Writing. Her interests range widely, between philosophy, photography, cinema, music and painting, owed largely to filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky. She is Editor-at-Large at Coldnoon.

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