January 2024
Bio Note: The year 2023 is ending with the loss of my first sibling. Everything around brings the precious times back. I look at the sky, specially on a full moon night, hope and pray that the days to come will bring me peace.
When we have the choice
to be dead and then alive— to pray for the sun to turn the ocean into a golden light, as a daily ritual of fishermen hear the waves froth over in white sheets, be an ordinary person— when we have the choice to bring back the time, find that hour, one bite of bread, one sip of water inside the death zone of human lives— when we have the choice to make a stop and wave to the twinkling tail of the plane leaving our patch of the sky at the hour of night, we must return. We must return to distant conversations of infinite existence.
©2024 Abha Das Sarma
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