25/05/2025
Our crushed bones / nuestros huesos triturados
A poem by Danial Andrew Danish
I have had many felicitous encounters thanks to my little poetry publishing project. Only the passing of time and the vagaries of fate will tell which of my books, if any, will be chosen to live for posterity. But I have the haunch that it is Crimson Pashmina what will bring Goat Star Books posthumous fame. I spoke with Danial the other day. it was at the height of the India/Pakistan escalation after the terrorist attack in that paradise destroyed that is the disputed land of Kashmir. Danial was not unduly alarmed. "Believe me, there is not going to be war with India", he said rather bemused by the sudden media attention to the usually forgotten Pakistan. It is business as usual there, the same horrendous poverty, the same violence, but also the same quiet effort to make things change. Danial works indefatigably with the street children of Faisalabad, and it must be hard to see so much suffering going on unreported day in day out. The daily struggles of the poor in developing countries is not asexy cause. There are no riches to be picked up there and there seems to be so much compassion we rich countries can have. The horrors of Gaza and Ukraine take all the attention of the "something must be done" brigade. I see them lamenting the passive inactivity of our governments against the massacre of children in the unholy land. But what do they want them to do, send fighting jets and unleash even more suffering into a world in flames? Real action and real change take place quietly away from the limelight. Like Danial's work, change comes without grandstanding and fanfare. Real change takes place in our minds and our souls, where a poem can have more impact than all the drums of war, for violence only triggers more violence, whereas a poem has all the seductive power of words, the power of beauty and love.
Listen please to "Our crushing Bones", the poem Daniel wrote about what he sees in his daily work in Faisalabad, and let the beautiful words sink into your soul.
The crushed bones of children lie under the football clubs we support and comes with us in the cheap