Poem and Sketch
by
Ausmita Roy
Stitched by invisible hands
Threaded together
by people with no face.
Whispers coiled in the corner
like sleeping lizards.
There was no light—
neither day nor night,
just canvas waiting
for something to move.
Time doesn’t ask, it takes.
Time didn’t arrive—exploded, molten.
One day I broke
like glass no one heard.
Gnawing at my roots,
shards of mirror in a desert
of memories,
I oozed into the sky.
My veins hum electric blue,
like rivers ready to run.
I flew—broken, but flying.
I exist, yet I do not.
The ash that remembers fire—
these wings, splintered,
are mine to shape, mine to fight.
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