Stacked on the back of his cycle,Comments closed
three shiny slabs of ice
are melting before my eyes–
how many friends will we lose
before rains bring relief
from this killing heat?
Meanwhile children in Rafah
are burning in tents
and schools–
we must uncover our eyes,
grieve and organise–we must
find a name for this fire.
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.Comments closed