For a few words of love

A small child cries

his wail is gentle

a trickle down an everlasting stream

a tired cry a helpless cry

as though he himself does not know

why he cries

his eyes are sore, grime coats his cheeks

hollow spots of white play on his sunken cheeks

a few teeth are broken, matted hair strung with white lice eggs

hang

someone had put some coconut oil in his hair

a few years a few centuries ago

he cries and his mother slaps him

the roti is too hot it hurts the ulcers in his mouth

his mother is impatient, after all its food

so what if it hurts when he eats it?

he sucks in his tears and uses the left over moisture to

chew suck swallow bread given in charity

Over across somewhere important they speak of Kashmir

they hitch their khaki pants over rotund meat filled stomachs

the afternoon meal is broken by conversation

Kashmir, Musharaff, Vajpayee, Missiles and Clinton

People argue incessently, my god is better than yours

Your god is a woman! an idol

Mine is circumcized, a he-man

You are a fundamentalist, I the true owner of this world!

see my India is Silicon Valley

see my Pakistan its pure Muslim!

The childs ulcers are bleeding

the bread has too much salt

A few words of love would heal;

but who will speak them?

My child, my sub-continent is dying

perishing under the weight of hate

and scraps of charity

A few words of love can heal

who is to speak them?

who among us has the courage to love?