घुड़सवार

Shrouded by a blazing fire, there's a certainty

Of war eating up saddle on a country's horse.

I hold the whip of water and splash prayers

Into the battlefield. Everywhere looks thirsty.

There's no water. Just blood // the opening

Mouths of guns & bombs//. My brother giggles

With a sharp dry laughter. His face shrouds a map

& There, we trace for a moonwalk. There are no nights

Any longer. My father is red. My mother becomes

Salt water. My auntie waves a goodbye from

The screen. I held unto the mirror all days.

Look into the glass, & see how

The eyes roll into stones. The eyes is the therapist's first

Indecision. I searched for one till my voice becomes

War. I am a voyager. I am most accidental. Even to my glass-broken brother.