Author Florence Chanu


Abstract To some extend, to fit in into the maze of standard made by society, we killed a part of ourselves to entertain the society even if it will cost us our happiness and peace.

‘That won’t ever happen to me.’
Under that first rain of shower season
You neglected the peace of mind.
With every first rain now;
The petrichor smells suicide.
By the window there’s a breeze.
Making those moments freeze.
By the skyline there’s a pink cloud
Reciting those laughs out loud.
The birds chirp sitting on the cable wires
Reminding me of your warble.
The tyndall effect hits hard
Reminding me of your mismatched color.
That ignored entangled earphones
Still lingering somewhere inside the bag.
That favourite-ted song you have shut your eyes to fit in
Still lingers somewhere at the corner of mind.
In the most complex part of human body
You decide it was a suicide.
But under that thing in the left beating inside
Feels and knows that you murdered.