#82 - on citizenship and home

Feb 24, 2020

Art by Hemvathy Guha

Citizenship by Javier Zamora
it was clear they were hungry
with their carts empty the clothes inside their empty hands

they were hungry because their hands
were empty their hands in trashcans

the trashcans on the street
the asphalt street on the red dirt the dirt taxpayers pay for

up to that invisible line visible thick white paint
visible booths visible with the fence starting from the booths

booth road booth road booth road office building then the fence
fence fence fence

it started from a corner with an iron pole
always an iron pole at the beginning

those men those women could walk between booths
say hi to white or brown officers no problem

the problem I think were carts belts jackets
we didn’t have any

or maybe not the problem
our skin sunburned all of us spoke Spanish

we didn’t know how they had ended up that way
on that side

we didn’t know how we had ended up here
we didn’t know but we understood why they walk

the opposite direction to buy food on this side
this side we all know is hunger

Other powerful poems I read this week:

"Maybe there is a country
where all of us live,
all of us freaks
who aren’t able to give
our loyalty to fat old fools,
the crooks and thugs
who wear the uniform
that gives them the right
to wave a flag,
puff out their chests,
put their feet on our necks,
and break their own rules."
-from They'll Say, 'She Must Be from Another Country' by Imtiaz Dharker

"Don’t be in haste

to ask anyone
about their hometown.

There might be people
who cannot tell you their hometown.

There might be people
who dream about their hometown."
-Perumal Murugan

"How long were my ancient days?
I no longer care to count.
I no longer care to measure.
How bitter was the bread of bitterness?
I no longer care to recall.

Now that we have tasted hope, this hard-earned crust,
We would sooner die than seek any other taste to life,
Any other way of being human."

-from Now That We Have Tasted Hope by Khaled Mattawa

“Whatever it may be, if you must shoot me please shoot me with a gun made in
India. I don’t want to die from a foreign bullet. You see, I love India very much.”
“That can never be. Your wish cannot be granted. Don’t ever mention Bharat to
us.”
Saying this, they left without killing me; as if they didn’t do anything at all. Being
fastidious about death I escaped with my life.
-from I Want to be Killed By an Indian Bullet by Thangjam Ibopishak

"before they lay barbed wire
across our tongues
let’s sing of almond blossoms

before they hammer our heads to
harvest thoughts let’s think
what we want to think

before they wall our sleep
let’s whisper dreams
into cold cruel ears

before they blind us
with a burst of lead
let’s mirror our darkness

let’s engrave this story
with fingertips on palms
before they erase our words"
-The lightness Of Being In A Heavily Militarised Zone by Asiya Zahoor