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
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