an article on the atlantic, questioning the UN's figures of the death toll in gaza, says: "It is possible to kill children legally". The violence of language and the language of justifying the unjustifiable. This poem is less for the hand sticking out of the rubble and more to the hand reaching for it.

all these toys for the legally killed children

but no one to play with.

a barbie doll head detachable.

a watch stripped of crystal naked dial

touched into the time you want it to show.

a pink flip-phone where you press one

for your sister's favorite song two for your mother

screaming your burning name and 3 for i'm here.

a dice with no one.

half a truck of darwish.

a flipbook version of a constitution

with its last pages missing.

a quiver called democracy an archer called god.

a pencil that can only write what you already know

on skins you're already familiar with

ferruled with an eraser in the shape of a kiss.

the same pencil but eraser detachable.

a sharpener-cum-lighter to kindle the cigarette

your father left unstubbed in the roof of his pockets.

the mirror in which he shaved

then cracked did not shave.

a seesaw which doesn't move

because on the other end there's childhood.

a toy gun with white bullets to shoot at

a toy dragon with blue fire.

an eye hammocked between your eyes.

and someone to play with.

~ ajay

30/5/2024