By: Suman Mondal

There’s a quiet peace in melancholy,
lying on a warm, water-soaked pillow,
whooping silently, a fragile halo on face.
The Moon is so dear today!

Stay away! The night is ephemeral.
Where is life? Weak bones covered
by the agonies of experience dying,
flesh, blood, and the warm touch of hands,
wiping the cheeks, wiping the life!

Embrace the taste of salty tears,
the taste of blood, mouth, and heart,
the soft hands, milk-scented hugs.
Away, away shame of being adored.

How does it feel to touch cold hands?
The wrinkles are visible, dust floating.
And how does it feel to touch soft hands?
Like a rose, sweet odour, and a racing heartbeat.

How does it feel to feel the rapid heartbeat?
The hugs, the goodbyes, the short talks.
How does it feel to share food, the night,
the gathering, and sudden intimacy?

Alive! Childish and immature, talkative.
How does it feel to ignore the world to live?
Bohemian, where is solace, tears, bruises?
Missing the ones, a small place in the heart,
haunting even when you find your new ones?

A little light unto the darkness crumbles.
Darkness comes, murky darkness, darkness.
A little child stops breathing.
It’s nobody. You.

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Suman Mondal is a rising poet from West Bengal, India. His philosophical poems have been featured in The Statesman, a well-respected Indian newspaper. His other works have been published in Lekh magazine, Faith Hope & Fiction, Spillwords, Brief Wilderness, Literary Yard, Apotheca Journal, and most recently in the festival issue of The Statesman (2024 & 2025). He has been shortlisted for the Young Writers’ Weekly Prize (2025) and is currently pursuing an honours degree in English literature at Rampurhat College.