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Echoes.

Echoes that I  fear, put me to sleep at night. All my goosebumps have died. All the body has felt and so it feels no more. Echoes that dont' dig deep, echoes, that march with you on the forbidden old street. Where you lost all your fingers feeding the hungry wolves. Echoes laugh. Laugh heartily as you cry. Echoes that follow you to the deserts, echoes that make sands softer so that you fall, and you hear grains of sand ringing in your brain. Echoes that cry when you're deep in meditation. Why would it cry? But it does. Echoes turn the pages of the stories you dreaded, when you were age nine. Echoes that flush you into the sewer, leaving the place for the next victim clean and white. Echoes are the moan that failed to penetrate the walls and when the room was filled, it made all the blankets fall.
Echo, I remember her digging my grave.




- Anushruti Adhikari (अनुश्रुति अधिकारी)
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