Please don’t photograph. The cold feet
of my baby withered blue petals.
I will rub her feet and tickle her ghungroo*—
she may open her eyes.
I will part her mouth, feed her halwa—
she may ask for more. No, I will let her sleep
so vultures won’t follow her to heaven.
Please don’t photograph; flashes will wake her.
Sleep, my baby, sleep.
*a musical anklet worn by Afghan/Indian dancers