I dreamed I was writing in green, my father was dressed in green robes— the dogs in the park were frisking, you were spinning beneath a tall tree. I saw the capital emptied of those who hungered for home— two pigeons took flight from a lamp post and swept down the lane in the back. I heard they’d opened the jails, and freed all the wrongly accused, I was writing this poem in green, my father came close and he touched me.
Yes, hunger is stalking the land, you’ve seen it up close, and I hear you. And they are using the UAPA to crush those who dare to speak out. Last night, you lay awake turning; I dreamt of thick smoke and my father— but the moon is half full and waxing, and the wind is gentle and clear; let’s grab our masks and a bag— we’ll walk towards a Mother Dairy; I’ll buy you a cold tadka chach, you can buy me a cool sweet lassi.