Ashok Gupta
Ramla
He would come daily
to sweep, wash clothes and dishes
in a shirt torn at the back
I gave him a shirt
that I didn’t wear any more
and another
and another
but he would still come daily
in the shirt torn at the back
Why? I would ask
Each time he answered
I sent it home
to my brother in Dungarpur
and would still come daily
in the shirt torn at the back
Family Album
Arms outstretched to prevent
burning flesh touching flesh
Kim, eight, runs naked
down the village road
other children follow screaming
with pain distorted faces
Napalm
Pagoda Vietnam
Tan plays a game
with a tank
a step to the left a skip to the right
till it is a game no more
Tiananmen Square
Khalid my boy pelts
a tank with little stones
dodging the barrel
running into by-lanes
His luck runs out
Nabulus Palestine
She searches my face
with tearful eyes
before they turn to stone
Why me?
What did I do?
That is Farida my daughter
Irbil Iraq
And this is me
and my home-loving wife
we still live on.
©2003 by Ashok Gupta
