top of page

2 poems by Abinash Dash Choudhury

Art by Enrico Baj



lives in me, like a tenant. my body, her home. through the window of eyes she sees rain, tonight. she decides to lie on the bed. lazily, she has draped a sheet and is reading quietly while thinking.  she has stayed in her home, me. pain has caressed her home, me. the monthly rent of ache delivered to me,  on time. only the mode varies: a break in the leg, or a twitch in the heart, cheque or cash, as they say. she lives in her home, quietly, in me.


healing  is cleaning the blood-stains  after a grotesque war, where you have lost everything. it is seeing your own guts on an operation table and being the doctor, who operates to sew it back. like renovating a house, it is fixing the pipes of the heart, tapping the flow of love, of ceiling the words that fly, of door-ing the tears that flow, of viewing the world through a window, in parts. healing, is seeing yourself crack, burst, burn  like a firework  on a Diwali evening and sing about the light  that you are. it is like a poem that you write, and the words pause the readers only to make you forget  what you feel, by the little compliments. healing, after all, is about mending a heart which breaks, mostly always, and the crack stays,  for ever and ever.

Follow Abinash's work on Twitter


Blog: Blog2


Blog: GetSubscribers_Widget
bottom of page