by Syed Shehzar M. Doja
You still — dream in
palette tips, lost tongues,
hung in cloth
floating on the bank of the Ganges’
sacred — inadmissible
supplication — still
cling onto fade of a tapestry,
forgotten defect — history erodes
thin, tin roofs.
Somewhere, a canopy of distant memories emerge;
a man pitches a tent, a woman carries his — ablution.