by Elina Kumra
Rapid tweets across the valleys of the Kashmir,
where murmurs grow to roars, quelled by fog —
the hourglass frozen for the lost child on the lonely path.
Longing to chronicle the rape red-hot incident, the cast-off
gas canisters around their soles, chucked
onto the innocent paths of Dalits. (Go home? I am home. You
go the fuck home.) Continue reading
Hawaii Pacific Review 