As Bombs Fall in Gaza, I think of Umar Khalid

The Delhi air turned cool,
so we set out into the night;

we argued about the future–
you said, I was too optimistic.

The G20-potted-plants
were wilting or already dead;

we cursed our leaders and wondered
if curses were now illegal. 

We knew the answer was yes–
and that bombs were falling in Gaza;

at this moment, children were calling, 
Amma, when will this stop?

When it rained, we ducked for cover,
I thought of Umar Khalid–

the wind smelled of woken soil–
I prayed somehow he could smell it.