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An intense, women-centric prose poem by Deeya, in Different Truths.

Fear is unknown; I’ve felt it in my and toes. I backpack it in my nightmares. The devil’s face in sickening colours engulfs my shadow. Lilacs hum a weedy tune. The livid Oracle smears my porous skin. Running past tunnels of thick darkness, a magenta scream escapes my mouth. I relive the murky past. The surging are snowflakes of agony. It drizzles. I can steer crystal clear. A pain is logged on my ’s face, as she holds a dead foetus in skinny hands. Trees mourn-a deadening grief- an embryo of grief. The language of a rusty noon with of sand is gritty. My mother rocks herself to sleep. Her muffled grief the dance of death. She repels my doomed thoughts. I squirm in it. The dread is a sepulcher of our fragrant dreams long lost in her hazel eyes. 

©Deeya Bhattacharya

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Born at Durgapur, West Bengal, Deeya Bhattacharya- a PG in English Literature and a Graduate in Education from the University of Burdwan. Her poems and articles have appeared in several National and International journals, websites, E-zine, besides several anthologies. Member of Poets International, She has read her poetry at quite a few fests. She teaches English and Poetry at a State Government High School.