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Echoes of the Obsolescent
Just as I was about to step into my neighbourhood, I spotted a hearse parked a few metres away from my house. Someone must be dead. Stepping into my neighbourhood is somewhat a transformative experience. One step into the alley, off the busy street, and you feel a steep urban gradient — literally, like an…
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Death of the Abolitionist
You keep running through the trenches,Ignoring the dead beneath your boots;Time trails silently behind. It’s dark —The world painted in shades of green,Blood turns black,Seeping from mangled bonesAs you step over them. You glance back.Between twin flames of burning trees,You see her —Fading slowly into your essence,Her hand in yours,Guiding you forward. Footsteps thunder across…
Shamasis Bhattacharya 