Monday, March 26, 2012


Tiny voices sound so big together.
Little faces boast stress lines, hide ulcers, 
And have their growing pains fed by
small disappointments that run into long rivers.

I don’t want to hear another thought that’s slapped down.
People stand up for so much,
They forget about the losses to be found,
And leave the cleaner minds to remember.

Scream to clean filth that’s still only superficial,
Scream to calcify hearts that are still open.

Where are all the happy hearts, the young souls, the fresh starts?

Chasing after old dreams?
Trying to reach dying stars?


Killing ersatz-people for fun?
Wearing breasts to nurse their dolls?

Violence is a child we’ve borne and nurtured.
The quintessential parents:
We blame it on chance and inexperience
That was ours to dispense with.

Which religion will you turn to now?
What hope do you harbor?
If they just have to,
Better take it lying down. 

-Khushboo Shah

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