Decomposition

Does the flesh remember?

Remember the molecule you 

split from? Aeons before the womb, 

when you were one (or none).

And before you are done,

will you remember? 

At the end, at apocalypse—

the atom, the earth, 

the sky you denied?

The fission of a life lived 

in the space between two 

lips, two lies, two lovers who died.

But the root remembers, the branch

that split from the grain of the arm.

Diligent wood, marking rings, counting time, 

and meanwhile—dust, mud, muscle, 

enzyme, all. In thrall, to the clock's 

marching tyranny.

Its cruel, divinity, returning bone 

and tongue back. No language,

no song, can fathom, this rhythm 

of a future past.

All that is solid, melts into air.

Beautiful decomposition, and we, 

boundless and bare. 

Cancer, decay. Silent, still.

Perverse peace that kills—

As the grass crawls and reclaims us all.

Anirban K. Baishya (July 19, 2026)

On a Knot in My Throat When I Remembered That Time I Wanted to Die

It came, without warning.

An earthquake, it's 

seismic breath, hurling

lava into the landscape

of my being. I felt it's fire—

galloping through my 

throat, and down my belly.

An infernal beast, clawing 

the air out of me. Never free.

It has been a while, since it scorched 

the inside of my soul. Yet a hole, 

Is all that remains.

Where my heart once beat. 

It still burns me, with 

it's intimate heat. Knocking—

ever so softly,  every 

once in a while, to whisper 

it's accursed chant into my ear. 

And I fear—

I will never be free. And though I flee,

Running through this forest of me—

I feel it's tremors still.

And I know, I will—

Always feel 

the knot that remains, 

lodged in my throat. 

And I, barely afloat... 

despite myself, 

am reminded of 

that time I wanted to die.

I feel its tremors still.

Anirban K. Baishya (July 14, 2026)

The Weight of Lies

Light vanishes, as we merge 

into the meshes of our encounter. 

Floundering in the depths of 

the debts we owe.

What is left to lose, once we've lost 

ourselves in the gears of infinite warfare 

of the mind? No look behind, 

can bridge the universe of difference 

between I and eye, me and you,

Each bone, each tissue, each sinew.

Nothing new, can come of this...

What is next has unfolded past, 

once as tragedy, once as farce. 

The weight of lies will exact 

their price, time will come to 

take you twice.

Now, neither tragedy, nor farce.

What monsters lie, 

at the turn of the dice?

There will be no salvation  

at the end of your empire. 

The weight of lies will exact their price,

The weight of lies will exact their price.

Anirban Kapil Baishya (July 9, 2026)