The same dream once more: running breathlessly through a forest
where the trees grow downward from the sky, I tripping over their fruits.
How to secretly tell you I do not want to be here? This is unsafe;
this snare of unfulfilled weed-like dreams mock me when you turn away.
Each time the village-men hunt for me – some with axes,
some with scythes – they scream peace in the name of the king.
Have I killed you? I have to have. Perhaps the birds that walking,
graze my feet, could recall. The soil cries through the night, one says.
I wake to desert mornings, to the sound of the cat purring. A robin
lying sideways under the wood table. Eyes open, unable to move.
Artwork by: Sana Saeed
