I have an injurious heart,
Longing for millennium.
Two full burnt smoky lungs,
Almost turned into fossil.
Liver is the victim of waywardness.
Kidneys are half damaged.
Viscera has no clue.
Brain is beyond repair,
Deeply rooted in anarchy.
Eyes convey an eye-catching past.
But fortunately no mask found-
In my bloody face.
Lips are parted with truth.
Cheeks are squeezed with betrayal.
Nose is battered.
Forehead scarless.
Love is intact in ribcage.
Spine has the trace of backstabbing.
Voice sabotaged throat.
Vein gave up in vain.

Although, soul is beyond any postmortem,
It was null with fantasy.
Fabricated with thousands dreams.
A spirit fought to save the last breathe-
And successfully failed.
Galib, it’s but a fatal phenomenon.

It reported suicide.
Which is part true and part lie.

This mumbo jumbo postmortem-
Is an error.

It only beats around the bush and-
Precisely no truth comes out.




Tiyasha Khanra
Illustration Nick Victor


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