Ketchup on my plate, clotted blood
On my thighs, notepad

In my bag, bullet
In my friend’s eye, a knot

Building in my stomach, whispers
Frazzling across the classroom amid sighs, loud steps

Approaching through the corridor, my mother’s face
Flashing in my mind, my father’s voice

Echoing in my ears, death
Coercing through tears.

– Ekta Singh Chandel