You that I am when finally I sleep.
Where colors blur into a muddy brown
and almond eyes are star tingly blue.
You are my context, my only clue.
How do you deny me when I am you?
My tongue curls sounds that you have made.
My box is of stones that you have laid.
I love you and loathe you, my lost is yours,
Your home and mine are foreign shores,
Brown as a nut, and as bleached as afraid,
we are the monster that you have made,
Slowly, slowly the ignorant learn,
Look at us, look at us, we are a thing apart –
Like father like daughter, can’t finish what I start.
∼ Tara Sahgal
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