With pangs of pain and smiles
The city of Dar es salaam.
Whose breezes, sounds, smells, and wounds
Surround my being
Like the breath of those evenings in Awadh.
But Dear Dar es Salaam
When your memory hits my heart
Why do I feel this excruciating pain?
Is it because my blood and color seem
Closer to those who have sucked your blood?
Bloodsuckers whose conscience lies
Splintered and scattered across the globe?
Or perhaps to those
Who could not be yours despite their intense desire
Because they never got an opportunity
To show you their love, or
To write their destinies
In their own words.