something has gone amiss
monsoons have over stayed their welcome
the men at war have not returned home
and peace is not seen nor heard
there are bones of dead people
under my garden
and all homes are built on dead peoples bones

does that make the living dead?
or the dead not at peace?

six trees died this monsoon and only one was planted in their place
no funeral took place
the dead trees were chopped to sizable chunks
their bones lie scattered

capitalism has a price
we pay with dead trees and human bones
perhaps, the war is between trees and men

or god and men-
when we have killed all trees we will wear oxygen masks made by companies
that promote a smaller carbon footprint

where once water was a blessing, it’s now a threat
dams overflowing
rivers gloated
livestock bloated floats in
flooded areas
hope is a substitute for the family with only half a meal
there is the stench of decay and soon it will rot hope
faith is still hanging by a noose
how long till someone with investment will kick
the stool it rests on
and crack its neck
waiting for godot
we watch the sun set in a phosphorescent atmosphere

…

diya is from lahore. loves old trees, words and surreal nights~