What will you call a child who
has war poems in her lineage
And have two chopped dreams at the
Place of her hands?
One who learned to count
One by her heart,
Two by her legs
And zero by herself?
What you say to a small penguin who
takes a pebble and try to build a home?
One who looks at igloos with its black eyes dark with jealousy and longing?
What will you tell to
a pigeon who searches for
poison in the water pot of your terrace?
One who doesn't belong in the
threshold of a therapist's office?
What can you describe a knife
Other than a silly second-hand?
One which cries for freedom,
but in a philosophical sense?
How will you take care of someone
whom the city bus threw out
Because she mistook it for a park?
What will you gift a lover who has a chameleon in the space of tongue, searching for new skies?
Will you arrest the butterflies
who eloped to the other side of river because they were hungry?
Who will understand that autumn is
when flowers unname themselves,
so it will be difficult to know their gender?
How will you chew rocks
just because they look like sugar cubes?
How will you put together the clouds teared by aeroplane arms?
What are we other than lavender breaths caged in a parrot's beak?
Who will tell  our fathers that
Snakes too keep it's babies warm?
What will you call what a caterpillar do-
an art or revolution?
What will you name a girl trying
to sew back the eggshells
so that she can play with chickens?
Our houses are babels with eerie skies,
where angels with blisters under their wings come for their lunch.
We weight as much as our grief,
and hiccup in our dreams.
Our breakfast table is an antique,
and our heads hsve clocks inside them.
So meet me in flea market,
and let's search for a home together.

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