My death won't be covered

No obits, no pictures

No profiles with a catalogue of dreams

No 3000 word essays in the New Yorker

Maybe an inch in the local paper

My death wont be covered

I am not sexy enough

I am not white enough

I am not interesting enough

Unless they can pin something on me

My death won't be covered

My blood isn't red enough

My grief isn't relatable enough

My life isn't worth enough

Maybe it is not fashionable enough

My death won't be covered

Public executions don't draw crowds

Private ones cost a fortune

Poverty is a boon after all

Not everyone has company in the grave after all

My death won't be covered

I don't have a name or even a number

I don't have a home or even a shroud

I don't have a bomb or even a cause

Or a mortgage to buy a few minutes of respite

My death won't be covered

And i won't even be remembered

But my oppressor will be celebrated

His pain will be taught in schools

While,

My death won't be covered

And I won't even be remembered

Comments

I have seen your dreams

I have seen your dreams I know why you scream Why the city of your heart is so utterly desolate I see graves shimmering, with Mountains on fire, windows shuttered and empty picture frames Vendors of rain litter your streets, knocking down broken deodar doors Slogans smeared on your empty walls, promising that the revolution is in the air Boarded-up lanes guarded by strays Lead up to vacant homes, embers of lost stories keeping fire barely alive Even your distant skies, a screenshot of paisleys inlaid with grief are knotted into a prison made of shattered glass I have seen your dreams I know why you scream !!

A peace of my heart

I should have done have done this a long time ago. In the last three (or is it four) days of curfew. I have been intending to write. But I have made up some brilliant excuses to excuse my self from writing. I have been playing games on my ancient computer or else I have been reading about superheroes and comic books on the internet. And once in a while, I check out the death toll. There is something which is gnawing at my heart. Every night, I hear sounds in the distance. They sound like women and children screaming. To shut their voices I talk to my half sleepy friends on the phone till I am bored to the point of exhaustion and fall asleep. But even in my sleep the voices are not shut out. They invade my dreams and my thoughts. I am dream that I am trying to set up a date and then suddenly without a warning, the dream changes, I am being chased in a dark alley which has no end. I cannot see what is chasing me, but its closing on me. As that thing grabs me, cold sweat breaks out

Tasenda

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