Author: Munawwar Abdulla

We were born like goldon this sparkling brown land. It fell, ringingfrom the mouth of an Uyghur angel,its music sunk into our ears.Oh, mother tongue,we became wanderers,and have moved far from your horizons. Opium poppiesbring the scent of the seas,thoughts kept moist for a while.  I have left the radio on.It speaksin the wind. Cool…

Today I did not comb my hairI didn’t even look in the mirrorMy kitchen greeted me icilyThe walls eyed each other, but didn’t look at meI wasn’t worth it to those four wallsIt’s hilarious that my cat was scared of meIs my appearance uglier than a catIs it so important to dress upHow did I…