His forehead stamped so many times
The lines are now ingrained
Fifty death years after
And his glasses still gleam
Below his forehead

Fathering a nation
And its concubines
Each letter mourned in white
And we write 'Dear'
In the first line
Every time

Even if we don't mean it


MY COUNTRY

My country is rough silk
My country is smooth spice
My country is black silver
My country is blue ice
My country is lotus temple
My country is golden mosque
My country is brick church
My country is glass synagogue
My country is tame elephant
My country is hungry tiger
My country is jumping monkey
My country is scuttling spider
My country is scented flower
My country is smelly dung
My country is ahimsa
My country is loaded gun

My country is
every manifestation
between a fiery red chilli pepper and your tongue
a burning piece of copper in the eye of the sun

Shikha Malaviya



Shikha Malaviya is the publisher of Monsoon Magazine, an on-line journal of South Asian Literature and Culture. Her work has been published in Chowk, Impossible Object, Gravity, and is upcoming in Anagram, Conspire, and Bolo! Bolo!: an anthology of South Asian writing.