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The Secrets of Breaking Generational Chains

My mother knew a fiend
from the first breath of youth.
Her will was systematically eroded
into absolute acquiescence.
This terror, a master sculptor,
wrought her soul to be
a perpetually open conduit,
a willing font of sustenance for
the shadows that feasted on ego.
One day, she was yoked
to a consuming leviathan,
a ritual played in sport,
whom she now renders
a lifelong, desperate worship—
to be his withered anchor.
To bear the weight of his crushing necessity
My mother forgot
to forge me
in that same submissive iron.

Picture design by Anumita Roy

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