- Vol. 07
- Chapter 06
“God, limit these punishments, there’s still Judgment Day—
I’m a mere sinner, I’m no infidel tonight.”
― Agha Shahid Ali
For Naureen Bhat
When the grounds were buried, nobody
walked the streets anymore; even the dead
prayed alone, once: “God, it wasn’t us!
It was never us!” When they filled the trucks
with them, even the dead cried alone, for
once: “There is no snow that could save us
anyway.” In the empty streets, no hands
waved: “Our god is a blind one this time.
He’s let not one thing remain of us.” They
have now made a shrine of graveyards, and
for once, no god resides there anymore.
When a hundred years ago, we were dead
already, our bodies, breaking, wrapped, in
plastic, in two cold hands; when the nights
fell, snowflakes cottoning up the ground,
nothing yet was cold anymore. In the nights
now, we listen for silence; when at dawn,
the sun comes up, no god resides here – any-
where – anymore.