Imaginary dense clouds of thunder and lightning roll like bellowing waves on an angry sea above my head. Fire and brimstone crackle from my think Urdu nose. Transformed into Bruce Banner’s Hulk, my blood vessels bulge green, battling to churn the quarts of blood that traverse this thick Amazonian body. My fists clench, thirsting for the culprits neck. My mind and spirit contending between war and peace… my flesh is out for blood. It yearns for vengeance, more than Iran, more than Israel!

I am riled by The Book Thief!

This is my worse fear coming through. For many months, years, I have hovered like a nervous mother; checking, rechecking, ensuring all were in their place. Lined up like tiny soldiers, a few marred only by the raindrops from the leaky roof. Bruised pages and chomped on edges by the stealthy termites that…