Wound Poem by Dr. Bishnupada Sethi

You carried the bite—
a great strain in your stride.
She carried the echo,
a bruise blooming beneath her ribs.

You kept the bicycle's wheels turning—
classes, friends, the ordinary churn.
She let her world idle,
a sentinel at the campus edge.

Sun and shadow stretched;
she lingered, unnecessary,
watching the wound, your breath—
tasks your own hands could claim.
She refused the mercy of chance.

Miles away, she folded her hours
into a narrow cot,
a wobbly chair,
the hush of corridors.
Fields waited; calls rang unanswered—
a life paused mid-sentence.
Still she stayed.

This is the old covenant:
the universe tilts toward the cared-for.
You walk beneath a living shrine—
no incense, no marble,
only her vigil
circling the clock
like a quiet moon.