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I Tell You No Jihad Can Change the Course of Rivers

itellyou
Outside, a soldier rubs the muzzle
of his gun with sandpaper      a bird changes its address

The head of a little boy is a deseeded olive
bobbing unaware in a bottle of terror …

It’s a curfew here … even sands refuse to rise
under the hooves of silence
…empty refrigerators smell of static

The village needs a cart full of fresh fruits and vegetables
But the only sale is on
charred bodies and limbs
and fists with toys in their clasps

Gradually the sun pimps up the landscape
Rodents and men in black scurry out from their holes
Drops of azan trickle down their marble tongues and vanish into their dark robes

Other men in tankers talk about tea
Some across a few tents gurgle with two cups of hot blood each

The purposeful move on to water the map with tankers
Violence replaces violet prayers

Linda Ashok lives in Hyderabad, India.


Posted in: August 2015: The Effects of War, Poetry

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