Deadfine Poem by Pinaki Dewan

cyclone-sudden poverty struck at her polished doors
almost like an increased sale in the shoddy bookstores,
road-empty nuisances whispering around
and the persistent drip-drop sound
of blood, of chains, of sheets and sweat,
who can surround her with the aroma of death?
listen well, feel the ever-ravenous gap:
the tears have stopped, a plumber has fixed the tap,
now, it's upto the window to continue the creaking,
do you wish to feel the hand that executes the beating?
tell her she will be alright, tell her she will be free,
if that will attach her to the senile tree,
but she survived every fall and every drought,
and here is a mere touch, there a mere gunshot,
she will be fine and if not, the court has a deadline,
she can always hang herself to a bottle of wine.