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In this poignant poem, Gopal states that morphine provides solace amidst hunger and suffering to keep love alive, exclusively for Different Truths.
I ate garbage day and night. In those days, if I was lucky, got leftover cold rice and salt. that would make my day. All were visible and all illusive. I had a bigger heart than anyone. then my lover was there. we used to share our food. we had no money. We did not count our pain. Once or twice a week I got beaten black and blue for stealing hot biriyani or lukewarm Chow mien from roadside food stalls. My heart was tongue then. All the love is gone now. We lived on our miasma, the morphine of our cracked bones. half for me, half for her. My heart cannot go on any longer. I do not know, then, how much one hand is like another hand, the hand that torments or rights our wrong. Hunger is the only story I know.
Picture design by Anumita Roy
