malalai khan

in my dream,
i walk down a narrow street
flanked by tall hedgerows
standing like quiet sentinels
but i can see the dark windows
of the beige houses,
no light, no sound,
the acrid air reeking of sulfur.
at the end,
i reach a black gate
under which
the slope of the pavement
is dyed red,
opaque against the concrete,
as it seeps down.
i crouch,
and gaze 
into a dozen eyes
of dogs
lying gutted,
their open ribs 
rising and falling. 
they blink 
and the air shatters with howls.
i run away from the house
but the street leads to nowhere
and comes back to the gate
and i keep running
and running
but a stray
can never stay
and bad dogs
are always
as good as dead.