Loss

The white devil with the blue helmet and red hands

Took my grandfather’s life.

 

It was my first taste of loss.

 

For me, loss is the barrel end of a loaded gun.

the evacuation of my home just before fajr.

It’s a plane ride crossing continents.

the expulsion of my mother tongue.

 

In its place a foreign one.

 

Perhaps loss is a ticking time bomb.

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