IN ANOTHER WORLD By Rasaq Malik In a different reality, I long to be a parent free from the endless agony of grieving for my young. No more bearing witness to my children coming back as forms curled like prayer rugs. No more spending sleepless hours sharing tales of a birthplace where those who belong are treated like strangers, forced to seek refuge. I dream of seeing my children learn to speak their homeland’s name as naturally as reciting a sacred prayer—of them playing freely in the streets, safe from being chased like prey in wild lands, safe from violence that leads to death. In that other place, I want them to chase grasshoppers in open fields, play with their toys indoors, breathe in the scent of flowers swaying in the breeze, and watch birds trace paths across the sky with their wings.
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