Tuesday, 24 January 2012

On the 'Shradh'

i cannot believe that those departed are crows.
my father'd be a majestic falcon
my mother a little sparrow
my sister would be a chirping magpie
he, a mischievous raven
you'd be a rather serious stork
and i'll be the proud peacock
who thinks all the alternatives matter.


i could show you the wing tips under my eyes
and bruises of every shape and size
i could show you scars on my arms and feet
and puckered flesh from searing heat
i could show you the stripes on my back
and files that fill a sack
full of headlines that decree
what was done to me
the violence of my house that is plain to see
but i'll show you one
a love bite on my breast
and you'll realize
how heartless he truly is.