Holding this mobile
Containing my publications,
What do I do with a
Cart load of ideas, shoot them
Or bury them in staggering bonfire?
My poems see the light of day;
Only when the world emerges out
Of a red ball of fire
Why this vicious hatred
Why alienate this land
Which debunks history?
But my mobile contains all my
Published poems. Thank you Editors,
Even when red soaks into Gaza Strip
I am writing. Not dying, while others
Die, even before writing a will
Only my mobile remains
And of course my poems.
Red is victory, sadness is lost
Amidst azure skies.
Only my mobile remains
With my published and
Rejected poems. I dedicate them
To the book of history and laws of saints.
My published and anti angst poems
Dedicated to a nation busy dismantling
History.
Only my mobile remains, refusing
To read my poems or even to acknowledge them
Alienating me from this land
And its history…