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Burglary: Silence and the Powerful Language of Unspoken Grief

The twisted window grill
pitied my helplessness;
I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

In the ransacked rooms,
I felt a disrobed privacy
trying to hide its face in vain.

There were clothes and papers.
and treasured memories strewn
on the monotonous floor
like a lover’s scattered loss refusing to be gleaned.

An echo of a shattered silence
gave me a look that had a whiff of whine;
I knew what it wanted to utter
under its breath but didn’t.

The home reeked of intrusion;
My presence wasn’t enough, nor was my hug;
A broken door showed its tears
but I couldn’t shed one.

Picture design by Anumita Roy

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