Soumik’s evocative poem delves into a mysterious, unspoken entity, revealing a peaceful mass of hatred without rituals or remembrance, exclusively for Different Truths.
It was there Untouched, unfelt No one knows who's there Inside the stitch A mass of hatred A lump of neglect No wreath, no fragrance No prayer, no sticks of incense Far away, detached, debauched. Yet No dispute, no quarrel No revenge, no violence Whether to bury Or to ascend over a pyre.
Picture design by Anumita Roy
This week’s highlights, exclusively for Different Truths, include Shail’s tribute to Zakir Hussain, commentary on minimalist travel, and…
Steffen explores the haunting nature of voices, referencing Merwin’s forgotten languages and kingdoms, suggesting a yearning for connection…
Mohan’s review of Gayatri Lakhiani Chawla’s Borders and Broken Hearts highlights the impact of partition on Sindhi literature,…
Nishi’s poem depicts a moment of confusion and disorientation, where the speaker questions their identity, location, and purpose,…
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