Ranjit Hoskote Poems
Footage For A Tranc
The hours stop in my veins.
Evening falls, a spotted tissue
draped across dayglo streets.
The clocks go on marking
the time in another city
where the trains still run,
taking people home.
Over my shoulder, I see my country vanish
in a long unfurling of cornflower-blue sky.
My limbs are clear as glass.
The wind grazes my shoulders,
the animal buried in my voice
wakes up and growls.
Script thrown away, I'm on my own.
The detectives will find me
when a rainbow prints itself
on the litmus sky at noon.
I clear my throat,
the movie ...
Eat slowly. Read what you can by available light.
Take nothing with you
except the sky stencilled in the window
to picture the next stage in this journey
that will carry you past the poplars of home,
past scrub and palms to the unyielding sea.
And when the train stops at the last beach,