“They are my uncles, my cousins,
my loved ones oh Krishna,
how do I fight them?”
The mirror cracks
A strange omen they say
Shards of reflected faces
Each distorted and incomplete
A wholeness lost;
A simplicity denied
A cacophonous sonata unleashes
The screeching of vicious sirens
Images of the dead
Painted with the life-blood of the living.
My poem is a response to the 26/11 events in Mumbai, India.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
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