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Dripping Pain: The Language of Loss and Longing

"We don't have to talk," says 
the psychiatrist, and we
listen to me portray and narrate
the exploits of the child
in this room, the one who can
seep inside the skin and drip out,
make you shiver and wane
when for days he stays within
and seeks the myth of the mother's
warmth. We don't have to talk,
tell him what happened to her.
He knows.

Picture design by Anumita Roy

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