By Siddhangana Kumari
I wait at home,
Or wherever it is I stand.
My real home is in rubbles.
And under the big blue roof,
Like a fly squashed,
Lies my sister.
She watches the sky with me.
We both wait in anticipation,
For our mom who went to get food,
For our father who went to get help.
We wait for the shooting stars to come again.
They are very loud.
They came when the house fell,
They came when my father left,
And once more while I waited for the food.
I don’t hear them anymore,
and mother had said,
I should never see them
or I’ll be a part of the stars at night,
Like her, like father and, like my sister,
Who lies under the roof waiting.
I am tired, this silence is overwhelming.
I think I want to see the shooting stars.
I don’t think I like it without them.
This silence makes me cry,
But others say it’s good.
Maybe if I’m a part of the stars at night,
I’ll hear the voices of those I don’t anymore.