Dr Az a fearless and sensitive soul – sent me this poem via email.
Travel Tickets
The day I’m killed,
my killer, rifling through my pockets,
will find travel tickets:
One to peace,
one to the fields and the rain,
and one to the conscience of humankind.
Dear killer of mine, I beg you:
Do not stay and waste them.
Take them, use them.
I beg you to travel.
Palestinian Poet, Samih Al Qasim, Translated by A.Z. Foreman
The image is of slain Mustafa – my colleague & a member of my family- who was killed by terrorists while they attacked me in Lahore.
