by Makola

It is a lie that in Karachi, after the rain, 
the sprouting grass doesn’t have blades deep green and soft. 
Or that the trees do not give shade without the help of clouds… 
With us in Karachi live birds who fly 
from trees through the sound of bullets and bombs; 
perch on walls; 
always they gather somewhere to pray. 
Our books don’t wait 
inside cupboards for termites. 
Now our hearts swim these seas 
where once our eyes searched for 
golden flowers 
and our hands tear down the walls that once 
buried us alive

- Zeeshan Sahil