Pigeons hop down elephant stairs

Pigeons hop down elephant stairs

under our breaths,

children beg to fill their bellies

with stories of utopia –

over and over again, to forget

tomorrow.

We have created our own Eldorado;

we have our Alice, our Snow White, our

sweet gingerbread Sundays –

and dreams of chocolate houses.

While somewhere uranium is poured

slowly into fields – over children, to

crown the Taj, and the pigeons

that hop down elephant stairs -

waiting in the Mirror House – waiting

for someone to raise a dynasty.

While we look to the sunset angels

who spread their red and yellow saris, wide

on the clouds and prepare to sleep.

We think of those who wrap

themselves in white and wait for the red angels,

wait until their skins melt into

rivers between borders;

Wagha – Amritsar;

wait for our thoughts,

of utopia,

of angels,

flying across half a century.

I came to Canada to study and continued to live here. Mostly I work as a web designer and sometimes I write.