Sitting in front of an unopened shop in Shazhou market.
The cold stairs gives some salve to my buttocks’ spasming muscles.
I think of Pluto. Maybe I’m from Pluto.


Scraping its foil between my teeth, I savour last of the choco-pies (original) I found earlier.
Maybe declaring it a non-planet cut its transmissions to earth? What if they are still looking for me?


Smoke from the local delicacy joints is seeping into my hair.
Did the ancient travellers on the the Silk Road know of Pluto then? Probably not.
Pluto was never part of the 9 gharas anyway. And their bums would have been no better off than mine when they arrived into this town, to care.


But then if my people are not from Pluto, what exactly am I doing here. In the outskirts of a desert, landlocked hundreds of miles away from the seas I know.


Did Kamil ever pen an answer to his kahin pe in sab mein, kahaan hoon…main?



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