I Sip Cold Coffee in Café Turtle, Khan Market, New Delhi
I cuddle into a calm
on a green wing chair.
Daily Special on blackboard:
Lebanese Platter / Cinnamon Roll
My smart phone rings: HOME.
I step out to Turtle Terrace,
shout: ‘Are you able to buy
food during curfews in Kashmir?’
I feel guilty I’m sure at home
they’ve stripped the last green
from leaves. I straighten my
face, stroll back in. Two grey-
haired silk saris blend Kehwa
and broad-minded politics,
three FabIndia kurtas talk profits,
their bellies prosperous.
Espresso machine hisses my name
Is caffeine tricking my brain?
Placard on door: ‘Have You
Got Café Turtle Loyalty Card?’
I feel like a hopping clown
inverting loyalties. Lest glances
across the room declare
my reversed solidarity,
I huddle at my table strewn
with cinnamon crumbs.
I hate crummy tables,
unfold a fresh paper napkin
to map my life—a farce-in-progress.
*************
Lightness of Being in a Heavily Militarised Zone
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
From Serpents under my Veil: Poems by Asiya Zahoor; published by Tethys, an imprint of Yatra Books, in July 2019
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