Now that we are fortunate enough
to be left behind,
we have time to talk gaily,
in the strange air of this summer,
of how we could be the ones
like them to go,
as we lounge listlessly
over the terrace where
a yellow cat creeps to surprise a sick rat.
The ice-cream man has stopped coming,
and now little angels within four walls cry blind without their wings,
doors open backward into silent room,
and copper-road, like god in fury, reflects empty sun.
Now that we are left behind,
we press clichéd lips into tired prayer,
"we will be good."
"all will be good"-
we murmur in our barricaded dream,
under the detained sun.
The delicate sky that roofs our still- unbroken heads,
have collapsed upon millions-
to their earthen beds, they all run.
Yasif Ahmad Faysal teaches English at the University of Baishal.