Literary Yard

Search for meaning


By: Adreyo Sen

The Living Room

It rained.
My living room smelt
of the damp.
The flowers were trapped
in their silences.

the living room that was the street
was destroyed.
The gathered
came away.
The kettle was locked back up.
The children busied smilingly
with little bits of street scenery
began to wail,
till hushed with stale biscuit bits.

The dogs crept under the broken benches
and slept peacefully.


[Adreyo Sen, based in Kolkata, hopes to become a full-time writer. He did his undergraduate work in English and his postgraduate work in English and Sociology. Adreyo has been published in Danse Macabre and Kritya.]


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