Shivangi Sandhu

THE 70TH DAY

It has been a while since my parents haven’t been back.

They say people have been dying out there.

Is it true that you need a piece of paper to make your existence valid?
is it true that you need a paper to leave this land?

(Syria)

I thought we were going someplace,

on the 10th day.

Where are we?

‘Your colour is not right’

‘Your gender seems to be too feminine’

(Congo)

The 20th day I wanted people to understand.

To look at kindness and not skins.

Even if we were not kind enough,

I wanted to let it go.

(Orlando)

‘Do you have it?’

‘The paper’

‘Something used to exchange with things’

money?

‘But do you have it?’

‘No’.

(Malawi)

The 35th day I fell on my knees

I hurt my knees a little

They are bleeding.
But its alright.

Happens in my race.

(Afghanistan)

The 50th day I heard gunshots.

They don’t stop now.

They seem to be chasing me.

To my dreams at times.
What do I do?

(Turkey)

55th day I call for god.

He isn’t returning my calls.

(Norway)

57th day I try again.

He says no

(America)

The 65th day my guts feel sick.
I think I have a disease.

Its reaching my heart now.

My sinful heart.

The 68th day I get a call,

‘Who is it?’, I ask with weakness in my voice.  

The 70th day I get a call again.
‘Revolution’, a voice says.

‘What took you so long?’, I asked.
‘Gathering guts takes some time’

 

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