They said that people who are unlucky are unlucky in different ways, but similarly lucky
My friend's maid is placed in the kitchen
With construction workers flowing around the neighbourhood like how
Dust is left as seeds from horses
And they do not care
They do not care
If they did, the world would be a dynamite
I don't even know whether she could be called lucky.
There are voices, maybe seen as noises here. Children singing.
Children singing,"Sigin Owin. Sigin Owin! Mahiba sigin owin."
That was her favourite song, the voice that had glided above her throughout her childhood.
And the waves near her father's boat. The sounds had been friendly to her.
But now these sounds are hostile. Drilling and thrilling and nailing and bailing.
These are voices of the 80s strike. They didn't descend but turned to songs and rap music.
"No rest for the weary and the weak.
No rest for the weary and the weak."
They do not care.
If the weary did rest, the world would be a dynamite.
She was frustrated. She didn't know whether the voices of rap could be judged.
Did they exist from the beginning as voices of the labour class?
Or do they have religious or divine statuses?
She had nowhere to place the voices.
They were once the talking trees, now blinded birds who massacred a whole village of
unborn voices, silence, innocence and babies. They were not forms of life. Not even fertile.
But she knew something, something did form.
If it didn't, the world would be a dynamite.
So she took the voices in front of the picture of Mother Maria.
She pulled the voices from her brain. Put into a jar so it became a hummingbird.
Hummingbirds, flow around the house like the ocean in the light bulb. Like the fragmented kingdom
within a fallen leaf. A maze. She wished voices would be trapped forever with the innocent workmen.
But they are still imprisoned.
She pulled other voices, the current voices out, made it into a gun and conducted massacre.
Sh murdered six workers with white T-shirts, but spared the capitalists.
She was hung.
She got saved by the hummingbirds. They took her to heaven where Angels had no wings.
There were sinners; according to new rules in this fake heaven, first world problems were sins.
No one knew whether she was saved or spared,
but if she wasn't, the world would be a dynamite.