Death Has

Air India 12.06.2025

by Ananya S. Guha / June 22nd, 2025

A debris
Black is not
Colour, it is painted
Death, Burnt
All burnt
In this furnace
What they must
Have felt in those
Few minutes
Charred
Black and the man
Who came out
Is his mind intact?
Did he scream
Like the rest?
Black, charred ruins
Of last human vestiges
And the inmates of the
Hostel, are they united
In death?
Charred, black,
Human carcasses have
No feeling.
Death has

Ananya S Guha lives in Shillong in North East India, where he was born and brought up. He has been writing and publishing his poetry for the last forty years. His poetry has been published in both electronic and print formats such as: Indian Literature, Other Voices, Osprey Journal, Glasgow Review, The Literary Nest, Up The Staircase, Asia Writes, Art Arena, Praxis Online, Muse India, Your One Phone Call, In Between Hangovers, The Peeking Cat Magazine, Post Colonial Text among others. He has also written widely on educational and social matters. He has ten collections of poetry and his poetry has been anthologized in various collections of Indian poetry in English. He holds a doctoral on the novels of William Golding. Read other articles by Ananya S..

This article was posted on Sunday, June 22nd, 2025 at 8:01am and is filed under Poetry.