ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR
DATE:29/04/2025
It was the kind of day
that didn’t demand
poetry.
Just the scent
of boiled rice
and old soap.
A chair facing the balcony.
Two pigeons playing
without metaphor.
Even the shadows
took their time
to stretch.
I didn’t write a word—
and somehow,
that felt
like healing.
RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
GUWAHATI, ASSAM, INDIA
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