“American Eclipse" and Other Poems

By Sumit Shetty

Ruve Narang with the Underlands Collective, Roots in Movement, undated. Multimedia.
Image description: Installation with a large central mobile suspended in mid-air, consisting of branches festooned with strips of cloth. Hanging in a darkened space, a bright light casts its shadow on the floor.

“Atoms" by Sumit Shetty
Read by the poet

Atoms 

I should be used to this nothingness by now.
my atoms have been nothing long before life was forced
down their gullets, stitching one day after next,
crafting meaning bookended by vacuum

a physically fit 28 year old Dutch woman,
the papers said, euthanised herself; 
Zoraya’s atoms lay scattered across time
carrying her name with them

my cousin's suicide
was not deemed newsworthy,  
but in crematorium corners
the neighbours whispered 

too young too young
how did it happen?
why did God do this to your family?
too young too young 
what was her name again?

I'm much much older now 
than she ever would be

but maybe her atoms regrouped, formed 
the physically fit 28 year old Dutch woman
mind addled again with the voices
(now in Dutch)

now when these atoms regroup again
I hope they get a few more years;
bit by bit, I hope they live more
than I could ever hope to

the nothingness calls to us 
like Amma does when it's time
for dinner but we stay distracted 
and build castles of atoms 
that were once,
and will again be, us

Ruve Narang, Anatomy of a Migrant's Shoe, undated. Installation and research series that deconstructs heavily-worn everyday objects to reveal the grueling physical and psychological journeys of displaced individuals and refugees (detail). 
Image description: A row of worn workboots lined up on the floor as though marching forward, sprouting branches instead of legs.

“American Eclipse" by Sumit Shetty
Read by the poet

American Eclipse

the umbra skipped us again;
like movie aliens deciding
skybeam spots, the diamond ring
of the syzygy chose to blaze 
over the Hudson– a spectacle
reserved for dollar pizzas,
busker hats, copper bulls

over there, do they also fear occult
reflections in bowls of milk? are 
their pregnant women wary 
of venturing out? when pigeons panic 
over there, can I take a shower here?

neighbour uncle fasts when days 
darken here, but foreign eclipses
are purer, he says, custom-free; 
his sons live out his dreams under 
the shadow– hands full of bottomless 
sodas and Big Macs, gnashing 
on meats forbidden back home

sacred threads dissolve 
into ethnic beads, they learn 
to breathe purer air, maintain lawns
and borders of suburbia– to assimilate
in an alien world, they phone home 
once a month, fly back once a decade;
prodigal changelings, good 
gora boys 

over there, do they fold their father’s
x-rays five times, and stare 
at the unfolding cosmos, right through
the osteoporosis? I wonder
if bones look the same 
under bleached skins

Ruve Narang, Anatomy of a Migrant's Shoe, undated. Installation and research series that deconstructs heavily-worn everyday objects to reveal the grueling physical and psychological journeys of displaced individuals and refugees (detail). 
Image description: A single worn workboot, sprouting branches instead of a leg.

“How will you take me?" by Sumit Shetty
Read by the poet

How will you take me?

not wrapped in the tiranga, or gobbled by a woodchipper
something in between– maybe feeding the sharks, 
or backflipping off the space station;
a nice little spontaneous combustion 
but after a last meal biryani, 
please

maybe when they look for reasons, 
my journals will be a note held for long, 
way past the encore

disregard my pleading, even on my worst 
days– people should go in the order 
they had arrived

he could’ve still been older than me; we all could've 
marveled at him astride another mountain, 
seen him mark off his checklists– look there, we played 
kabbadi with him, even then he was the best!

the electric furnace gobbled him up, done in thirty 
minutes; at the wake, incense ash hounded 
his schoolboy smile, withering with the smoke 
that won’t stay put in my palms

I'm forgetting his face now, just the outlines remain
like a police sketch of a person missing, hurriedly taken– 
fragmented frames that I'm not trying too hard
to hold on to 


Sumit Shetty is a writer and entrepreneur from Pune, India. He is an organizer with the Pune Writers’ Group and is currently working on a science-fiction novel. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in The Bombay Literary Magazine, The Alipore Post, Unlost Journal, The Universe Journal, Gulmohur Quarterly, the Usawa Literary Review, and The Yearbook of Indian Poetry in English.

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Ruve Narang (https://ruvenarang.com) (b.1991, Mumbai) is a multidisciplinary artist, storyteller, and creative director based in Mumbai, India. She combines fine art, psychology, and literature to drive activism, challenge social narratives, and foster creative dialogue. She has collaborated on global projects that span art, literature, and social injustice.