Fresh, a poem written by Megha Sood at



written by: Megha Sood



There is nothing new in this world
or the place where I’m in
counting the minutes lost by the clock
with no hands

our body is outlasted by our bones
our only testament in the world,
hollow and brittle–
but they can’t tell the truth

no matter how voyeuristic your life was
they are buried
numb and mute in the rotting soil,
they outlive us;
they are marks of the immortality

the rocks of the tomb are
battered and degraded,
as the hands bring me into it
surrounded by silent rocks

and the stone-hearted people
reeking of the dark pain
carried in their hollowed eyes,
everything is stale
and reeks of the stench

of the pain and jealousy
they carry in their hearts
but I’m fresh as a daisy
my body still warm
as I’m being lowered
in the freshly dug grave.

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