Primrose poultice won't heal us

After Ghalib and Faiz

​

did you tell her about the gathering

leaf piles and dream nights

ash grey sunsets for fortnight moons

crescent cuddles the sky like a blanket 

when we both know it's too hot for this.

this burning, proceeds 

as we chant epigraphs 

of our / their / someone’s land lost

on 3D printed plastic

we make poetic of the waste 

swim in the birthymetry 

of where we come from

 

each cyborged by a falling tree

I wear the paper that becomes me

the words never stick

so I keep half lessons

​

of Ghalib and Faiz, blended:

now everything is like my heart

dil-e-naadan tujhe hua kya hai?

​

My heart, blood stained and beating

My heart, innocent

and what of the sky then?

that we're all writing to

that hates us now

worse than scorned, she scorches 

wherever we walk

but worry not,

we're in America now, 

so we will wake up 

and dream through the waste

we will cook eggs on the sidewalk

on car tops. on hand plates

​

no matter how this heart beats
or doesn't.

​