By Rajnish Mishra,

I come home after years and carry bribes along:

bribes for minds to remember, to remind me

the forgotten me.

I carry chocolates for all.


Death is of two kinds: permanent or temporary

removal from a world.

In my world of past I’m dead.

I’m dead, nearly, for many.


I’m dead for my next door neighbor,

no less than permanent.

We have lived beside for years,

beyond my years.

Then I left.


I left behind my home, my people and my city.

I made the choice, and the choice made me,

It made me dead.


At first they thought; me too,

I would not be dead for long.

We were wrong,

So wrong!


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