I begin this poem as a prayer, that everything fading in my country does not wipe my dreams into a monochrome, & may I not become a silhouette of my father’s losses. For here, your dreams know peace & unity, & your body becomes a cathedral of chaos & disintegration, like how a boy whose dreams smiled a stethoscope around his neck, morphed into confinement, wrapped with white linen. Which screams–“I am an inversion of dreams, fathered by this country. “I am a star–I wrap my name around this star, that God does the unveiling, & that I may not morph into nightmares. God please, may I morph into my dreams! (which knows peace & unity).
