Antología Imtiaz Dharker

The right word
 
Outside the door,
lurking in the shadows,
is a terrorist.
 
Is that the wrong description?
Outside that door,
taking shelter in the shadows,
is a freedom fighter.
 
I haven't got this right .
Outside, waiting in the shadows,
is a hostile militant.
 
Are words no more
than waving, wavering flags?
Outside your door,
watchful in the shadows,
is a guerrillawarrior.
 
God help me.
Outside, defying every shadow,
stands a martyr.
I saw his face.
 
 
No words can help me now.
Just outside the door,
Lost in shadows,
Is a child who looks like mine.
 
One word for you.
Outside my door,
His hand too steady,
His eyes too hard
Is a boy who looks like your son, too.
 
I open the door.
Come in, I say.
Come in and eat with us.
 
The child stepsin
And carefully, at my door,
Takes off his shoes.














They’ll say: “She must be from another country”

When I can’t comprehend
why they’re burning books
or slashing paintings,
when they can’t bear to look
at god’s own nakedness,
when they ban the film
and gut the seats to stop the play
and I ask why
they just smile and say,
‘She must be
from another country.’When I speak on the phone
and the vowel sounds are off
when the consonants are hard
and they should be soft,
they’ll catch on at once
they’ll pin it down
they’ll explain it right away
to their own satisfaction,
they’ll cluck their tongues
and say,
‘She must be
from another country.’

When my mouth goes up
instead of down,
when I wear a tablecloth
to go to town,
when theysuspect I’m black
or hear I’m gay
they won’t be surprised,
they’ll purse their lips
and say,
‘She must be
from another country.’

When I eat up the olives
and spit out the pits
when I yawn at the opera
in the tragic bits
when I pee in the vineyard
as if it were Bombay,
flaunting my bare ass
covering my face
laughing through my hands
they’ll turn away,
shake their heads quite sadly,‘She doesn’t know any better,’
they’ll say,
‘She must be
from another country.’





Maybe there is a country
where all of us live,
all of us freaks
who aren’t able to give
our loyalty to fat old fools,
the crooks and thugs
who wear the uniform
that gives them the right
to wave a flag,
puff out their chests,
put their feet on our necks,
and break their own rules.

But from wherewe are
it doesn’t look like a country,    
it’s more like the cracks
that grow between borders
behind their backs.
That’s where I live.
And I’ll be happy to say,
‘I never learned your customs.
I don’t remember your language
or know your ways.
I must be
from another country.’




Living space
There are just not enough
straight lines. That
is the problem.
Nothing is flat
orparallel. Beams
balance crookedly on supports
thrust off the vertical.
Nails clutch at open seams.
The whole structure leans dangerously
towards the miraculous.

Into this rough frame,
someone has squeezed
a living space

and even dared to place
these eggs in a wire basket,
fragile curves of white
hung out over the dark edge
of a slanted universe,
gathering the light
into themselves,as if they were
the bright, thin walls of faith






Un aliento ( inestabilidad de identidad

Bastaría con tan solo un portazo
para que todo caiga.
Una botella lanzada
contra la pared,
para empezar el martilleo
sobre el corazón
y romper
el cascarón del cuerpo.
Un estornudo, una tos,
una duda.
Bastaría tan solo
con un aliento,
nada más.

Este cuarto

Este cuarto salede sí, agrietándose a través de
sus propias paredes
en busca de espacio, luz,
aire vacío.
La cama se levanta de
sus pesadillas.
Desde oscuros rincones, las sillas
se elevan para estrellarse entre las nubes.
Este es el tiempo y el lugar
para estar vivos:
cuando el diario mobiliario de nuestras vidas
se remueve, al llegar lo improbable.
Ollas y cacerolas chocan
en celebración,...