The Night I Stole a Shooting Star
A shooting star tore through
Lahore’s smoggy horizon.
You covered your eyes,
to save your superstitious soul.
I looked at it in your stead—
pilfered your superstition
with my charred hands,
ceded the burning wish to you.
Back Dreaming
A grey-white fledgling
feeding on orange marigolds,
in the window beside my sobbing father.
The doctors fixed my legs,
couldn't do anything about my spine.
Asked what I'd do with a boneless life,
I looked to the marigolds and said:
Eat chocolate cake,
and break my back dreaming again.
