Now, finally, I’ve come
to declare a ceasefire
against my own body
with whom I’ve fought
all these years.

Now my body
looks like a war-ravaged
skinscape; a fallen city
torn asunder by strife
my two hands are at war
with each other. Feet are
vagabonds of the worst order
always ready to drift apart
they even threaten to secede.

My dreamless, liquid eyes
have hardened
into a slippery stone.

My tongue is actually
an unleashed dog
barking endlessly at its own shadow
my fingers carry nothing
but scorn on their tips.

This ruined, desolate heart
pumps only blood of betrayal
from within the despair
of my battered soul
rise long sighs
like dark columns of smoke.

Sitting across the sad,
white corridor of my bones
I go on kneading the dough
of my pain
trying hard to bake
some soft bread of hope.

– Durga Prasad Panda