Prague by Manav Kaul | E02 | Hindi Poetry | Terribly Tiny Tales


I am not the person you let go. The kind and small roads are now tar. All that was green and alive is now a coarse black. These days, I am scared of falling
so I’ve grown roots. But some of our places are still breathing. Every now and then when I walk past some places, I get a hiccup, of our shared memory. Have you ever been to Prague? If you go, do visit Kafka’s grave and listen to the haunting quiet that you feel when you’re so tired and broken that the bedsheet becomes a reservoir of that ache. There are no dreams there. Only a cold and endless silence. Do leave something there. Because I’ve known that
the things you leave behind
grow roots.

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