Poetry by Sabyasachi Nag   •   Photo by Manny Librodo



When we were little,
we hardly needed space
we rented all the rooms
and raced into a closet.
But there were clothes and quilts
suits and shawls
lots and lots of naphthalene balls
and they had to have a place.
So, out we moved.
Gradually. First, my big sister,
then my little sister,
then me.
One by one.
Out of the closet
into another and out
and in we went, sometimes I liked
the darkness, hemmed walls
unmoving scenery, corners
that bent on squeezing;
music of the woodworms
toiling on their grand tunnels
and the sanitized Godly smell.
Sometimes we just ran
not really knowing why,
because no one ever
was chasing us.

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