…from dust to dust
you whisper
sanctifying the fires
that tore apart
bodies and bricks
and histories
and childhoods
from babri to barbed wires
you sell that book
as if
there is anything actually
written on its empty pages
but then
what would you who
burns down libraries
and spears ideas
with tridents
know anything
of writing?
look closely though
and you will see
the monuments
of love and laughter
built by
mothers and sisters
and their neighbors
and daughters
that live on
in an unburnt
nameplate
undrowned
in your godforsaken
dust