Sherry Duggal

We are forced to cut pieces of life
into meaningful compositions
as time holds the notes
of sun filled patterns
over rooftop silhouettes
that lie scattered
across an atlas of pain

I live in a dream
somewhere between the lines of a flag
or the colors of a horizon
that I claim as my own
and trying to make sense
of the shadows
beyond my door
my old escape route
has disappeared
in a landscape of homes
that have now become sanctuaries
where we pray to different gods
while whispering the same chant.