Sudipta Mishra, Puri, 3 January 2026
Like the pale, frail
wings of a dying bird
She waited for her final end
on the unruly sheets
of snow
of this cruel winter.
She took her last breath
while leaning
on the cold wall
of a marketplace
that never slept.
She never knew the days
When someone hugged her tightly.
She never felt
the same warmth
of her deceased
granny
that she once received.
Then a miracle happened.
She lighted a matchstick
lying beside her
A ray of hope reached her-
She saw the radiant
rugged face of her old
grandmother.
She took a nap
in the warm bed of
her withered dress
caressed by memories
instead of arms.
Suddenly she woke up.
A harsh sound tore the air,
with the blow of the watchman’s whistle.
Everything turned numb
In the dusk of an unknown alley
She closed her eyelids.
In between the ash and flame
her body lay sprawled
like a wood log
in a wild wilderness,
while the city moved ahead
counting years
not lives.
