The words are not safe anymore
Looks fragile; the ink dries hurriedly
Smudged, and sometimes crumbly
Tossed away casually towards edges
Pages reveal the unfeeling lines
Even before time can consume feelings
Stories are forgotten- vulnerable
Inability to narrate the feelings
Could not have emerged naturally
From struggles of daily confabulations
Comparisons and ersatz versions
Of many cultural upheavals
The pages will not be cleaner
Once the ink stains them, forever
Pages will crumble and wither
Decay and take away the essence
The words without a safe haven
~Amitav
Amitav Chowdhury 