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.
I inhale the luxurious scent / of squelched earth / smoking under the sodden leaves
Echoes of your voice ring in my ears / As the world turns scarlet in front of my eyes
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.