Featured Illustration: Hanifa Abdul Hameed
I am told Europe is beautiful in the summer
Indian summers try their best to melt you to the ground.
How shall I compare thy summer’s day to mine?
Our flowers are scorched under the sun
The same sun that shines so benevolently on you
This same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.
The heat pierces your skin
As if it’s trying to tear you apart and stitch you back
As white skin tans
We grow darker than the soil we stand on
Our summer yields fruits
We talk about mangoes like you talk about wine
Preferences call for civil war; my mother reaches for a langrha
As I slice my dussehri in half
While you are running down the streets of Barcelona
Spring break, summer vacation
We stay inside, too spent to walk
Rising temperatures and rising tempers
We cannot do anything by halves
This world is too much with us
Even within moments of no intention.