Armed men lining city streets, reporters sent to jail; intestines spilled in sand or snow, apartment buildings, rubble. Last night I dreamt of fire and bombs, I woke at dawn, trembling– I asked you for the news from home– you said Kashmir is angry.Comments closed
From a West Delhi roof, the moon is high and bright, the heat will be here soon, but the wind is cool tonight. Last night I dreamed of my father, and how my mother said, he cried when he lost his job, he sobbed when he lost his job. I’m thinking of your brother, and how he lost his job; he has no place of his own, he has no place of his own. Our leaders peddle hate and lies, and still we vote for them– we trade our hope for hate and lies, again and again and again.Comments closed