Monday, April 13, 2015

3 pieces of roti

Written by Aksa Bilal
 
I want 3 pieces of roti
Round, crisp, golden brown
I get nothing but a frown
But I want those 3 pieces of roti.
 
I clean the gravy off my dupata
I wonder if my mother heard me stutter
As I called for some food.
I look for my brother’s face
In the clutter on his plate
Amongst the trillion little pieces of roti
 I know my father doesn’t care
And when he lovingly stares
At the 3 dots on my shalwar
I know he is not thinking about my 3 pieces of roti
 
I could swoon at death’s feet
If it wasn’t for the morning feast
A lot of air, a bit of meat.
I will fold them all neat
my stains and my marks
For your rotten stars 
 

And when clowns paraded naked on the street
Shot dead at my feet
Were being robbed of laughter
And innocence
Nothing but a few cents
They earned that night.
And all I could think about were my 3 pieces of roti.
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