Father, should I say thank you for the part of life
You kept from me, so that I became a shrub
Lost in the Sahara, so that I became a shadow
Wandering in the depth of quite streams?
At least I would not share in the luxury of this world’s perils.
Father, I have been washed away by the limbless guards of the Sahara
Quite streams could not anymore lay eyes on my shadow
I am now a root in the tropical rain-forest
Buried neatly underneath a nameless tree.
Perhaps they come looking for me,
Tell them, my skin is clothed in robes of a damp graveyard
Coloured in a glittering lackluster,
The smell of a million feet roaming like drones.
Tell them, if they hear a voice
The sound of a dry, lonely, falling mango leaf
That would be mine.
Tell them, I have written letters, many letters
Perhaps they find invisible inks
And writings of an invisible finger, buried behind a locked room,
There I would be, in the silence of those letters.
Father, tell them all these
So that they would know how best to murder a child;
Nurture him in the baldness of a desert,
And there will be no trace of a single bone.
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