1

white bread and rice grains
scattered on grounds
of neighbors and manufactured enemies
are festive gifts to distract me with melodies
which ask as much for my logic
as they plunder for my silence.

where is my sponsored war this morning?
or the subsidised tea?
whose leaves seem twisted with guilt.

 

2

gullible children
flow like  landslide
across the fields-
the way their amorous parents dig fingers through muddy hair

and pray for rain at nights.

so, don’t tell them
which part of their land you own.

 

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