Won’t poetry happen to me? Caught in the lanes of history, don’t I qualify now?
I have even seen Allah in rags extend the earth like a begging bowl.
The Two-Nation Theory is dead But the old don’t forget.
In this city of refugees, trains move like ghosts.
The old don’t forget.
My friend’s grandfather, hoarder of regrets,
cautions: Those Muslim butchers: Be careful, they stab you in the back.
The old don’t forget.
My friend’s grandfather, hoarder of regrets,
cautions: Those Muslim butchers: Be careful, they stab you in the back.