Trigger Warning: This poem contains themes of violence, death, loss, and political conflict, including references to the suffering of children and civilians in war-torn regions. It may be distressing or triggering for individuals who have experienced trauma related to these topics. Reader discretion is advised.
Conversation with my past love
By Devika Gopakumar
My love, tell me why
you will not speak of
the dead brown children
in Gaza tonight
Do you, not mourn me
As I wade through,
The lost words of all
my slaughtered poets
Do you, not dream of
Flour bags, drenched in blood
Bombed cities, in your lungs
Clear skies, raining ash
Your leaders, stagnant words
Your friend’s, silences
My Jaan, will you not
weep with me
As all our, ancient towns
And once our, Father’s homes
are exiled, to the wind
and scattered, with the dust
Do you, not feel that
All the water
In this broken world,
Will not wash away
the wounds of our
Butchered children
Tell me now, past love
how many,
weeping Hind’s*, will it take
Till you, dream of
Flour bags, drenched in blood
Bombed cities, in your lungs
Clear skies, raining ash
Our leaders, stagnant words
Our friend’s, blind eye
Did you hear, lost friend
Bisan, flew a kite
in Palestine today
Do you think, that the
missing kites of our
Fallen children,
Will make their way
to our shores, one day
My love, I fear that
We have too much blood
on our hands today that
we can not wash away
And all our, unsaid words
and all our, silences
Drenched those flour bags
in Gaza, today
*Hind Rajab: Hind Rajab was a five-year-old Palestinian girl from the Tel al-Hawa neighbourhood in Gaza City who was killed by the Israeli military, after being the sole survivor of Israeli tank fire on the vehicle she fled in with six relatives
