justice—where is justice?
Where voices unite, a chorus strong, / Demanding justice, righting wrong
Your grief rots the decades old paint and the lakhri no one bothered to replace. Even across the road, it reeks of death.
‘You must bury / yourself / Every three days’ / She said, / ‘Corpses are of / No use
Echoes of your voice ring in my ears / As the world turns scarlet in front of my eyes
I inhale the luxurious scent / of squelched earth / smoking under the sodden leaves
I feel my rage, ma, a living thing;/ A beast, caged, like me
What I wish I didn’t know is that when your dear friends whisper the word “psycho” behind your back, you’ll grow up accepting it.
Skin sticky with perspiration from a long month of June
justice—where is justice?
Where voices unite, a chorus strong, / Demanding justice, righting wrong
‘You must bury / yourself / Every three days’ / She said, / ‘Corpses are of / No use
Your grief rots the decades old paint and the lakhri no one bothered to replace. Even across the road, it reeks of death.
Echoes of your voice ring in my ears / As the world turns scarlet in front of my eyes
I inhale the luxurious scent / of squelched earth / smoking under the sodden leaves
I feel my rage, ma, a living thing;/ A beast, caged, like me
All that I’d despicably known / Things I wish I didn’t know–
Skin sticky with perspiration from a long month of June
What I wish I didn’t know is that when your dear friends whisper the word “psycho” behind your back, you’ll grow up accepting it.