ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR
Date :19/04/2025
A city does not mourn—
it simply builds
over what it cannot name.
Your favourite chai stall
becomes a parking lot.
The graffiti you loved
is scrubbed
into something
less political.
Even the pigeons
no longer pause
at your window.
But somewhere,
an alley still smells
like your laughter—
if it rains
just right.
RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
GUWAHATI, ASSAM, INDIA
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