My name?
No...
Don't ask my name.
In this country, names don't buy bread.
Ask my scars.
They remember me better than my surname ever did.
I was born on a morning my mother said the sky looked hopeful.
The neighbours said, "Another child has come."
My father smiled...
and begins another speech...
and somewhere inside that speech you hear—
Balablu...
Bulaba.
Don't laugh too quickly.
Listen carefully.
Sometimes...
the loudest noise in a nation...
isn't made by d people speakin.