If I could dial your number once more..

 If I could dial your number once more

I wish I'd dial it wrong

I wish I misdial 9 for an 8, and 6 for a 7

that way I wish, I would never meet you,

but find love in a parallel dimension

I wish this time, I'd find the wrong number

as the right one, the last one, the correct one for each lifetime

dialing 9 for a 9, and 7 for a 7

and listen to my favorite husky voice,

dipped in honey, painting my day in its hue

kissing my cheeks softly,

leaving a print like strawberry's skin

Only if I could dial your number once more,

I wish I misdial it, to get the right one,

in this lifetime, and beyond...

What does a border mean?

 

This poem is not a celebration

Somewhat  a deliberation

 

Often I have listened to the episodes of strife and hate

Narrated by my grandfather, the stories that never fade

 

About communal riots, separation and humiliation

About plundering, mental torture and frustration

 

I was a listener, so I drew my own imagination

Supported by the chronicles in movies and animation

 

I never understood the ‘why’ of it

The effects so sad, but what was the ‘cause’ of it?

 

National fragmentation and mutual disagreements

Joys and sorrows are the same, so are heart, blood, and sentiments

 

They look like humans, so do we, they behave like animals, so do we!

So, time to pause and ponder, pushing through a lack of clues, 

why this war stigma stuck to our minds like the flu?

 

Well, borders have only meant geography to me

Marked purposefully on the map

 

It breaks my heart locating divided pieces of land, 

because the books of geography and history

narrated plightful, horrific stories

 I am a clear-headed millennial born in the year 1989

I ask you, why these borders? What’s my crime?

 

This poem looked back, to many funerals and cremation

To each their own interpretation!