Literary Imagination, volume 12, number 2, p.
153
doi:10.1093/litimag/imp056
Jihad
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MEENA ALEXANDER
The swans are darkening their feathers with kohl,
They want to be beautiful.
A blind head goes where a beak can’t.
On the mountain, larks flit into nothingness,
A brightness in water for a god rushing through.
A blessing haunts a soldier’s lips,
A man drags his shadow upstream.
A prisoner swirls on a water board
Blotches of snot, shards of cartilage,
Under blackened wings, the body’s broken grove.
Trees shift their vernacular into a swollen script.
Once in the Valley of Swat
A child herded goats, raced his golden kite.
Now walls crumble with light.
ß The Author 2009. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of the Association of Literary Scholars, Critics, and
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Advance Access publication September 18, 2009