The Eighth Silence
THE EIGHTH SILENCE
Seven times
he called me son.
Once,
he did not.
A king left his throne
and went deep inside
for a poor woman
who had only said,
“No.”
One chromosome
less—
and somewhere
a scientist was born.
At the height of being worthy,
the attraction was gone.
To see her
became more
than intercourse.
One kept seeing—
until he was in prison.
A candle flame
never knew the stainless-steel spoon.
He searches always
for his desirable thing.
The object.
The light.
The electricity.
The enormous water
held inside the dam.
Raw.
And then—
Copyright © Anurag Chahal | Year Posted 2026
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