How To Kill Your Daughter?
A feather a night while she sleeps.
You pluck her wings with a knife.
One by one so she doesn’t feel a twinge.
When at last you’ve scrapped her skin raw.
You sit her down at the dinner table.
And tell her she’s now free to fly.
Again she’ll ask her; maaye ni meriye…Chamba kitni durr?
You smile knowing she’ll never reach there ever.
Death doesn’t have to be bloody.
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