The Graveyard of Light While digging my own grave I could not guess When the storm would come When sense revived There was fungus And the decaying roots Of a silk cotton tree on my palm. Confusion Not a dream And neither It seems real. The door has been broken down But there is not a scratch On the walls, Come out quickly The terrible smell inside Drives my house mad Nobody can tell When it will trample down.
Translated by Ananda Bormudoi
Bijita Sharma is an Assamese poet based in Hyderabad. She was born and raised in Assam. She pursued a Mass Communication degree and completed a Graphic Design diploma in Bangalore. Currently, she is working as a librarian and a literary trainer for children in a school.