hope splattered on the floor,
walls and ceilings smudged
whispers
low moans
silent, eerie smiles –
a muffled hustle, all the time.
him in bed, eyes always closed
silent, still – ever
Since the door was closed last
the wind has not moved
into and out of the room –
Only the muffled inquietude.
Thoithoi Pukhrambam
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