Deadline to submit your poems has been extended to February 28th.


Harshita Malhotra

I was in a purgatory last night,
I was shot but there wasn't any wound;
Bullets were breaking my backbone,
I cried so long, lying on the cold hard ground.

Death grabbed my hands,
I felt a sudden warmth, peace and starlight;
I remember together we had a cup of tea,
And as I remember, she was kind and polite.

She held my hands, trembled me into an earthquake,
My voice evaporated like wisps of smoke and my hair flew like golden snakes;
My eyes shone like spangling moonlight,
My subconscious turned into an eloquent poet.
It twisted my bones and an new version of me was born,
And I shivered into a wholly new dawn.

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