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On my Instagram feed

a tourist adds a filter – illusion sets in

picturesque valleys and mountains

 

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On my Instagram feed

a sister adds henna – rigor mortis sets in

picturesque valleys and mountains

 

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On my Facebook feed

algorithms took a shikara picture

everywhere

 

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On my Facebook feed

algorithms took away the professor’s profile

online versions of

missing graves

 

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On my Twitter feed

retweets of fascism

never run out of data

 

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On my Twitter feed

a country runs out of

β€” obituaries

 

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She writes Faiz on my arms

Her name i felt on fingertips
across oceans and seas
Faiz came on her lips

β€œaur kya dekhne ko baaqi

aapse dil lagake dekh liye”
Continue reading “She writes Faiz on my arms”

My fingers run across a map and they bleed

My fingers ran through the edges of these lines
Mapping my memory of spilled blood
Baghdad, Damascus, Anfal
We rise against darkness only to fall
Karachi, Homs, Srinagar
A world held hostage by a trigger
Continue reading “My fingers run across a map and they bleed”

The Country Without a Post Office by Agha Shahid Ali

Buy the book

1

Again I’ve returned to this country
where a minaret has been entombed.
Someone soaks the wicks of clay lamps
in mustard oil, each night climbs its steps
to read messages scratched on planets.
His fingerprints cancel bank stamps
in that archive for letters with doomed
addresses, each house buried or empty.

Continue reading “The Country Without a Post Office by Agha Shahid Ali”