Children of Fallujah

Come to hell,
come back once to smell
deadly white phosphorus
on the bank of Euphrates.

Your war on a whim
left us to sink or swim,
with deformed mouth,
intestines hanging out,
out of body,
half a head unshaped.

You clipped our wings,
busted childhood myths,
left stillborn siblings
to play with.

Still, echoes in ears
your triumphal buahaha.
Here we are
children of Fallujah
with vast cyclopean eye
waiting around to die.

Probal Basak, 35, from India, started his career as a journalist working with Press Trust of India, Business Standard covering mostly socio-political issues. His first collection of poems 'Flakes of Time' was published by Sahitya Akademi, India's National Academy of Letters. Probal, a writer and translator, writes poetry and his works have been published in literary journals like Rust+Moth, The New Verse News, Dissident Voice, Spillwords, Asian Signature. Read other articles by Probal.