I
For once
stop scrolling through reels of fantasy
or shorts of celebrity bosoms and starlet arses
For once stop
flipping through unending options of candy coloured pumps
and bling sprinkled first copies of Jimmy Choo dreams
Stop
not for the sake of tender
infant bones crackling under rubble healing in body bags
or for the sake of their fortunate mothers who are
no more alive to see them writhe, not for the sake of cities
homes and heavens fill up with the dead, not for the sake of history
being made and un-made
Stop
to take a little peep into the mirror like a tourist looking at the mummy in a museum
that curates the dead...the living dead!
Move on
only if you recognize yourself
II
I had seen it in the morning star light That ephemeral moment
when you held my fears between your shoulders.
I had heard the music of a safe life A little like
the jingle of a pocket
half full of coins when
You had plugged my ear with Promises of a life together-
And yet I had seen it creep under the door And choke us mid-sentence
...the putrid west wind carrying news of dahlias scattered in the sun Of cuckoos eating up the baby crows
And of Fathers in heaven panting for survival in their dark ICUs Seeking to live on draughts of blood
Drawn from their own sons I have known since
That all my breaths are guilty of life Feeding on another person라이브 바카라 gasps. In this asthmatic moment of survival I have not stopped knowing that You and I
And our children will never know music Until the west wind decides to sing
A different song.
III
I wonder what laughter sounds like in blown up homes
and hospitals strewn with death! Does it remind you of the bonny baby and his cherubim cheer
in the spring of Wordsworth라이브 바카라 country?
Does it resemble the chuckle
of ticklish little heads lolling back and sideways
of which parents borrow their own forgotten smiles
…and the giggles, and the guffaws...?
I wonder if they laugh the way one is meant to with lips parting and teeth glistening-
with eyes shining and bellies shaking-
I wonder if they still know how to laugh!
I wonder if we can send in some relief trucks full of laughter- I wonder if they’ll blow them up!
I wonder if they'll blow them up! I wonder if they'll blow them up!
I wonder
If they'll blow up
Kamayani Vashisht is Principal, JLN College of Fine Arts , Shimla
