There are silences
That grew up in the forest
Encircling the fort
The sun and seasons spoke of them
The Marathas and Moghul rampaged
Behind an encroachment of skies
Shrill war cries thrived in the cold
Of a silence
And trees grew up to bury
A history of the unspoken
Each day was stalking a river
Of breaths
Secret hideaways and bat caves
Breached the night
Rustling of chiffon, footsteps that woke the dark
Our warm lips that never spoke
Our hands that grasped a timeless tradition
Held to
Silences that should never been broken.  

by Dr. Amitabh Mitra
May 21, 2006