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)
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