And they dream in the rain.
Under the shedders of open windows
Heads hung over panes
Fingers out stretched, they dream.
He dreams of noise
Of car horns and bikers,
He dreams of the city
and a life he yearns to live.
She dreams of rivers
Plane rides and trains,
Roads leading nowhere
and places she can never go.
They dream of sleep
On the nth night of labour,
Of blackness in soft pillows
and care they never received.
And some dream of nothing,
because dreaming feels dangerous
For their eyes don’t shut to sweetness,
but to blood and guns and violence.
They don’t hang their heads past shutters,
lest they bathe in red.
They don’t dream because it’s foreign
and they get busy dodging death.
They learn and remember and ponder and cherish,
But they don’t get to dream.
By Aira Shetty, for the Trans Solidarity Fundraiser