শব্দ জোনাকি (Whispers of Fireflies)

"I lost my lost saints in pieces. With some, their voices eroded slowly then quickly like graveyards on seaside cliffs crumbling into ocean. Some began shaking: their hands, then arms, then legs. Some stood up when they could not stand and fell because it was too late for the miracles they could not perform. Some waited too long to see the doctor. All arrived at the hospital too late. One did not return with the martins he loved to the churches of Krakow. One unspooled tire tracks in the snow like a long staff of sad music the night he drove away to try to no longer be a saint. Some turned out to be so evil they’ve been rewritten as monsters, devils, people I wish I had never met." I did not write this poem. The people in the poem have vanished amidst various shocks and upheavals. Yet, the poem itself is essentially about that very act of vanishing...Yet, the lines seemed to articulate my or perhaps our—own unspoken sentiments. Yes, I too have lost my kindred spirits, one by ...