“The nightmare is that there are two worlds. The nightmare is that there is only one world, this one.” — Susan Sontag*

an embroidered dove flies off the fabric
that mother and sister kneaded
materializes into hopes and wants (needs)
for something better
something across continents (maybe)
does the future see you and me (alive?)

does it see our land
full
open
devoid of checkpoints
of armed tanks
of blood and curfews
that seems to pool years into months.

if i hide in this cart of oranges
close my war-stained eyes
i can be transported
and
information will fasten itself to me like a seatbelt
and
i will find the three jewels to win your heart

in bed,
i am transformed into
a robin
i fly away
soaring so high i could see what it was like
before
billowing away to the rhythm of the tablas.