To the many whoevers who made that happen (and the ones who got the photograph to me!), thank you. Click here for the full text from the Aman ki Asha website, or read the photograph or full text of my poem (correctly formatted!) below.
My temples pound with laughters that died today.
Fences collapse. No this side that side today.
I made a hundred thirty two paper dolls, drew neckties,
burned them one by one, then finally cried today.
A bloodied pencil. A broken ruler. The impossibility
of measurement. No desks under which to hide today.
A teacher who saved two hundred lives, cries
when called a hero. A heart too tight for pride today.
Mine is not the grey silence of the unmoved.
The matted hair has left me tongue-tied today.
And the dead, listening to the wails of those who remain:
do you, at least, have someone in whom to confide today?
To leave the city’s famed flowers blooming, or to lay
them all at gravesides — who should decide today?
Your cliches do not warm them, Aditi.
If you say more, you will have lied today.