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Poetry by Rohan Chhetri 

Rohan is the editor of the literary magazine nether.  He lives in Mumbai, India.



© 2011 Rohan Chhetri








The thirteen-day funeral rites

had just ended.


My family had started

tasting salt little by little.


The mirrors had just

been unveiled.


The gods in the shrine

were still dusty

out of neglect for days.


Grandfather's absence had

settled in the house

as a matter of fact.


His clothes and shoes

had been distributed

to needy friends and relatives.


Only sometimes it felt like

he would cough

at the door and enter


As if nothing had happened

and no one would dare say a word.


Grandmother cried only

to visitors now.


Then days later I found my grandfather’s diary

in an old drawer along with some long needles

and British surgical blades.


I showed the articles to my father

and memorized the family tree by heart from the diary.


Mother says,

Late that night,

Father wept like a child.










All work is property of Rohan Chhetri.




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