I am a terrorist.

It is you who said so.
That my blood isn’t salty.
I can’t possess memories of love, compassion,
not even the sweeping wind.

I don’t have the right
to so much as touch the spots of clouds
that kiss horizons.

You won’t give me a drop of rain,
the tears of the sky,
Even if the ashes of my live body cries out to nether planets.

I know well that yours is a failed generation

It doesn’t matter who I am

My soul is hurt
by your arrows
piercing my skin
My blood is the color of sea.
My shouts of anger are the cries of invisible people.

You say that I am of many names
That I belong to several castes..
colors
and smells.
You crucify my ugliness
My memories are the ants long erased from the present.

How can it be that the blue poisoned throats of yours can’t stand the light of the day?

The smiles of my kids..my love..dreams..

I haven’t changed the maps..
Neither have I conquered your creepy crowns.
Yet I am silent.
‘coz I have the right to remain silent.

Hunger makes us dream of the sea that boils in our tummies, yours and mine.

You hanged me once on cross for sharing five loafs of bread among five thousand.
You shot
my child
dead for tasting a bit of sugar

You nailed him on a spear when he was in the womb dreaming of the hatchings and baby fish of earth

The lighted torch stuck on my chest is his blood.
The poet who sang
on how to kill and
the one who drank five suns empty have put me to sleep.

My fingers yearned to touch butterflies.
And you cut off my palm itself.
I sang of freedom and you pulled out my tongue and hid it in caves till death.
But I was silent.

Yet you burned my poems to ashes.
Each drop of ash multiplied to billions.
Let unto the last child dream a complete meal, and the last drop of green dance,
Let me spill my blood on that ash.
‘coz I am a terrorist.