by Jayanta Oinam

Something didn’t quite die
It continues to live, day after day
Asking questions and raising million mutinies;
Perhaps, I was still there
At her doorsteps, waiting for an answer
Or may be,
I am unto myself, alone in the grave, waiting
For a resurrection!

That day,
She returned home late, and
Brought home a fiend mask, and
Said, somebody plant her a bastard for the occasion
So that, she be accepted a ceremonial bride for the occupation

That day,
She returned home, and
The lore continues and my morning toil ceased;
They said its drought!
That day stood evident for her lost fertility
From that day, my grave was my home And everyday,
I stood at her doorstep asking for the answer!

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