Listen South Asia


Listen to the leaves in the wind

The gentle cry of the myna bird

And smell the mustard

On the breath of spring


I ask not for your silence now

As you plan the atomic future so well

While I cradle the past

With the firmness of the desperate


Your work never rests

Mine is all but forgotten but

Who knows why we cannot

Together weave common rope?


Listen to the children cry

Can you hear them?

Muslim or Hindu, all children

We often claim to be deaf yet

Hear their hunger

As our children cry