She entered
like dusk slips through curtains—
slow, deliberate,
never asking
to be noticed.

The lamp flickered.
He watched
as her earrings swung
like pendulums
measuring silence.

She undressed
without touching a seam.
The room tilted
as if memory
had gravity.

His fingers hovered
over the curve of her hip
like a prayer
he no longer believed in.

They moved
like fire learning
its shape
in a spoon of oil—
quiet first,
then chaos.

Somewhere,
a rain began
they could not hear
but tasted
in the salt between breaths.

Then—
stillness.

Not peace,
but aftermath.
She lay back,
a wound wrapped in moonlight.

He stared
at the crack
in the ceiling—
noticing it
for the first time.

The room smelled of iron
and orange peel,
as if something holy
had burned
and vanished.

She left
before the hour turned.
Her body stayed
for days
in the folds of the sheet—
a crease,
a heat,
a warning.

- THE END -

© 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh.
All rights reserved.

First
I count
All the stars
Shining above.
But after you came,
And I watched you go,
Now I sit— wise,
Pensive, and
Count the
Dark.

whenever i’m real,
nobody hears.
the media prefers silence
wrapped in static,
muted truths.

i speak of faith,
of laws,
of power
and watch the room
empty.

but sadness?
ah...
they lean in.
eyes soft,
nods rehearsed.
the ache is digestible.
the wound, relatable.

funny, isn’t it?
how we hush the loudest truths
yet cradle
our quiet despair
like it's holy.

we ignore the roots,
but mourn the rot.
it's funny.
almost.

WE OFTEN HIDE BEHIND THE NAME OF FEAR!
WELL, WE ARE ALL GROWN UP NOW.
WORRIED ABOUT FALLING BUT HAVE WINGS,
A WAY TO FLY, BUT NOBODY IS HERE NOW!
BURIED LITTLE ONE ARISES, SPREADING BEAUTY AND LOVE.
EXCEPTIONALLY WARM MUSIC MADE DELICATE FEATHERS UNCONSCIOUS.
HEAVEN SEEMS REAL, LIFE BECOMES ALIVE.
SUDDENLY TUK-TUK-TUK ---
THE DITCH REAPPEARS AND FEATHERS BECOME HEAVY.

By: Shivam Sehgal