My Own
by Ananya S. Guha / September 6th, 2026
Violence in this hill town continues
The hills must suffer for any act
Of transgression. For they have been
Witness to it for long. Suppressed
Tears they absorb everything, human
Hatred, unrest among the unemployed
I seek peace, knowing that the hills are
Silent testimony to violence for decades
But how will they express,
Cry out in anguish?
The somnolence of this town is disquieting
My memories of the first curfew here go back
To six decades. I remember scampering home from school. History returns now almost every year.
I walk familiar ways,
When during the rains, plums ripened
And mangoes were in plenty. Local fruits
Added colour to the streets, where baskets
Were full
I still call this hill town my own….
Ananya S Guha lives in Shillong in North East India, where he was born and brought up. He has been writing and publishing his poetry for the last forty years. His poetry has been published in both electronic and print formats such as: Indian Literature, Other Voices, Osprey Journal, Glasgow Review, The Literary Nest, Up The Staircase, Asia Writes, Art Arena, Praxis Online, Muse India, Your One Phone Call, In Between Hangovers, The Peeking Cat Magazine, Post Colonial Text among others. He has also written widely on educational and social matters. He has ten collections of poetry and his poetry has been anthologized in various collections of Indian poetry in English. He holds a doctoral on the novels of William Golding.
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This article was posted on Sunday, September 6th, 2026 at 8:00am and is filed under Poetry.
