Writing is no easy work
As I turn a page
I get a papercut
The clock ticks
And the deadline nears
The ink on my hand smears
I stop for a moment
And look at my hand
Is this my brain?
I wash my hand
It disappears.


An Empty Cradle

Disclaimer – Kusumuli was destroyed when her tenth child died while still an infant. She walked 36 kilometers from her tribe to admit her son to an already packed hospital. Her Son’s death made the death toll 40 in the affected tribe in Orissa. This is an ode to mother’s like her.

“”One day you will grow up. You would accompany your father to the forest. The forest gods will bless you, they will always look out for you. You will bring fruit and wine.
One day you will go to college. You would like to study agriculture. You could help us grow maize. Or you could go to the Law university in Bhubhneshwar. You could help us win this land battle. The babu in the black coat tricked your father and sold our land to the steel company. Stop crying! go wherever you wish to.
One day you would go to school. The government has said that it will build a school in the village nearby. You will wear uniform and bright shiny shoes.””
Kusumuli kept rocking the empty cradle. Her husband peered through the door. Their tenth child had died.

“One day you would go to heaven,you would meet your brothers and sisters, tell them that mother loves you all”