The rain was shrieking loudly, sweat was trickling down my entire body, and I was walking down the lane where I came across the graveyards of dead poets.
Walking barefoot in between graveyards, I witnessed stories that a poet can't recite. The wind was too strong, carrying the essence of heartbreaks, and my breath caught in my throat as I saw flowers blooming with lovers' tears.
As a gust of fear metaphors blew by me, I heard the terrifying sound of the syllables. I was astonished to notice that the phrases were sprouting on each bone of the cranium.
I stood there and looked at the broken grave where I noticed a cloth on the chest that concealed screaming stanzas of a dead soul.
I noticed " The senses were cold, and the eyes were closed, The beating was stopped, The body, which had been wrapped in white, had become dusty,
But the soul sobbing in grief making haunting noises by turning the pages of a heartbreak book, was alive !"
I awoke terrified, rubbed my eyes, and walked over to the window to turn on the lights realizing it was a "Nightmare".
//Relation with the food they asked? And this Hungry soul smirked//
The cuts on my hand make me feel that I am half alive. Every morning when I wake up, Maa tells me to listen to bird whispers because their happy sound can fill my night's empty stomach.
Dad instructs me to weep over the dried leaves on the floor and then to burn them all together, to burn my hunger in that flame.
Maa cooks half roti every day at noon and my heart yearns for softness as I look out the window at hungry people, Sharing the remaining it with my half-aged friends. I fill my stomach halfway with roti and halfway with water. While washing the utensils, I drain my last bit of hunger.
And at night talking to the moon about the daily chores I drink tears flowing from my eyes to sustain hunger
//To me, food is like shattered words colliding with the poet's ink to keep love (hunger) alive.//