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Sukanya Ghosh Poem
The knife held in trembling hands.
Gasped breaths intermingling in the cold, dreary night.
Hushed whispers, choked off words.
Thousands of what if's disappearing like smoke in the polluted sky.
Soft flesh held in calloused hands.
The soul staring out through its window— or maybe the bars of its cell,
Wondering in amazement at the brine red pools.
Wish you'd have kissed as softly as the knife hurt you.
Glided your dirty hands on unblemished skin as the glinting blade did on yours.
Copyright © Sukanya Ghosh | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Sukanya Ghosh Poem
Winter nights.
Soft lights.
The fog floating around reminiscing of the ghosts of your past.
Two souls, bared in silence.
Whispers of doubt and assurances of love,
Touching your skin with cold hands feels like sin.
But the pools of brown look like altars.
Where I worship you and continue to sin for my mortal body.
Copyright © Sukanya Ghosh | Year Posted 2025
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