Aunt searches for prognosticators, she rummages through books of prediction for talismans.
My sister wants to fly like ‘Una Paloma Blanca ’ as she listens to the song of a serenading free bird.
I say ‘times are tough, you must mutter up..’
The pallor of gloom that she carries in her heavy heart, I understand.
The monotony continues almost like a grinding machine,
The horrors haunt – the abhorrence of news,
While pyrrhic politics continues.
In our homes, yet like in dungeons we stay,
Midst anomaly and uncertainty.
Misted like a fog, as darkened as sable storms, the future ahead, feels uncanny,
Yet we stay awake with lanterns of hope.
We celebrate the bonds that strengthen, we treasure the concurring concinnity of togetherness
And empathise, for one and all –
In this silence, we will win!
~ S. Rupsha Mitra