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Sunday Column by Buddhapriya Biswas

Donuts for Dinner

Soon getting patched with the poems of the wind. By tearing the winds. I reached, police station.  Where Sir Joseph was sitting with the same piles of files on his desk. I called him, “Sir! Sir! Sir Joseph” but didn’t get the reply. I again called him with a slight loud pitch. But he was not responding. I tried calling him a bit louder, but failed. I was now sure, my voice is not reaching him at all. The Universe was an ongoing explosion, and that’s where I lived, in an explosion. I didn’t know what living is. Now, sometimes atom just get very haunted. That is me. When an explosion explodes hard enough, dust wakes up and thinks about itself. Like the last time I questioned my existence. I began doing it again. There was no choice left. No close beings were left to listen to me, to feel me, to touch me, to sympathize me, and to empathize me. All the existence were numb, and lifeless. I could feel myself talking. I think I am the one who was there to listen, to myself, and by doing that, there was no way out from the labyrinth. I was counting my footsteps and blessings. The number of blessings I got throughout my life, and to merge those blessings with Susan’s. So that The Almighty look at us.
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