Cosmos gardener mourned his untimed flower’s death
his tears breaking nearby forest nape
like waters adamant to fill earth’s every room
but what good it did as evidences washed
to oblivious shorelines, spilled opaqueness
small newspaper corner spent next day
‘another elderly women branded as witch sleeps to death’
no candle flamed no slogan on streets
for old blood wrapped on avalanche of time
what were the last syllables murmuring
inside her sternum like crumbled colonies
left after sudden bombings
as hopelessness was much part of her (a street dweller she was)
what made death jump on her
like a disc aimed to her chest
I remember I was taught
humanity is first language our mouths should know
but unlike convenience
how to filter soaked blood from earth
shall the trees soiled there bear fruits
with pulp of dirge
how many metaphors can compensate
the emptiness, hypocrisy rattling my silent insides
strange, humanity elopes from street end.
Writer: Purbasha Roy
Artist: Sonali Sharma
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