{"id":16522,"date":"2026-09-14T19:40:28","date_gmt":"2026-09-14T17:40:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=16522"},"modified":"2026-09-20T19:51:29","modified_gmt":"2026-09-20T17:51:29","slug":"poems-by-tushar-sen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=16522","title":{"rendered":"poems by Tushar Sen"},"content":{"rendered":"

At My Funeral<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They lowered the coffin like bait for worms.
\nSome were crying, some tried,
\nsome had already cried.
\nSome were glad, some relieved,
\nsome worried, some indifferent\u2014
\nthe rest were marking attendance.<\/p>\n

The priest was miffed\u2014
\nthis death did not pay well;
\nhis prayers came measured,
\nhurried where they mattered least.
\nHe checked his watch mid-ritual,
\nhis return ticket still unconfirmed,
\nanother ceremony waiting\u2014by evening, a marriage,
\nthe groom from the gold mafia,
\nwho paid in weight, not sentiment,
\nand buried their mistakes properly.<\/p>\n

Candles came aplenty, but bouquets fell short;
\nparking wasn\u2019t free\u2014visitors complained.
\nThe lamb was poorly skewered,
\nand gossip found its rhythm;
\nwine was opened while champagne stayed aside,
\nand the poet was drunk,
\nso the requiem never came.<\/p>\n

Then came the speeches\u2014
\nfolded versions of me,
\nironed of inconvenience.
\nThey spoke of kindness as if constant,
\nof promise as if it had matured.
\nNo one mentioned the unfinished,
\nthe debts of habit, the small betrayals of self\u2014
\neulogies prefer completed men.<\/p>\n

Near the edge, a man stood apart,
\nnot grieving\u2014calculating.
\nHe had numbers where others had memories,
\ndates where others had faces.
\nHe did not step forward,
\nbut did not leave either.<\/p>\n

Death triggered accounts.
\nSomewhere, signatures were remembered,
\ninterest quietly resuming its work.<\/p>\n

Inside, they spoke of legacy\u2014
\na word that softens division.
\nDrawers would be opened soon,
\nkeys finding their locks,
\nnames matched to portions.<\/p>\n

Grief thinned into arithmetic\u2014
\nwho gets what, who deserved more,
\nwho was always meant to be left out.<\/p>\n

The cameraman appeared
\nonly when the movie star arrived
\n(hiding his glycerine bottle).<\/p>\n

They forced the drawer open,
\nwhere lay the will I unwillingly signed.<\/p>\n

What remained of me was dust in the graveyard
\nand papers to fight over.
\nThe flesh was never needed\u2014
\nthey let the worms have it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My mirror doesn\u2019t remember my face<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The mirror wants my first face back.
\nIt knocks from the inside.
\nBackstage smells like old rain
\nand wires losing faith.
\nThe spotlight left mid-sentence,
\na warm dog choosing knees.
\nIt sleeps on other names now;
\nmine cools on a hook.
\nMy suit keeps its applause\u2014
\ndust claps when I move.
\nA poster peels my younger grin,
\nglue holding better than me.
\nI rehearse being recognized
\nin windows that refuse.<\/p>\n

My name sticks to the rim,
\na print no one claims.
\nChairs remember my weight
\nlonger than any crowd.
\nI drink the light in bottles,
\ncheap bulbs with no heat.
\nThe mirror keeps him breathing:
\nunspent, untouchable.
\nIt offers him for entry;
\nI pay with what I\u2019m not.
\nSecurity scans my silence,
\nlets brighter ghosts pass.
\nEven the dark edits me,
\ncuts scenes I can\u2019t keep.
\nThe mirror waits for change\u2014
\nI wait while it slowly forgets me.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Poisoning of Alexander<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I know you,
\nI have seen you lift souls
\nfrom the battlefields of my making,
\nyou chose the wrong door tonight, though.<\/p>\n

They\u2019ve planned it all\u2014
\nexcept this.
\nThis cannot be my time.
\nNot yet.<\/p>\n

I deserve a cleaner death\u2014
\non the battlefield,
\nwhen steel sang odes
\nto my conquests,
\nnot trapped on a bed
\ncounting pulses,
\nlistening to the hush close in,
\ncursing the traitor
\nwho held the chalice.<\/p>\n

If I could buy time, you\u2019d be rich.
\nTake your pick\u2014
\ngold in coffers,
\nland stamped by my signet,
\ngems stuck in plundered rings,
\nflesh caged in harems\u2014<\/p>\n

I\u2019d give it all away
\nfor one more day
\nof that thunder and glory.<\/p>\n

All of it\u2014
\nuseless against this quiet.
\nAnd yet\u2014
\nwhen you finally find me,
\ncome without force.<\/p>\n

Come quiet.
\nSay\u2014
\nthe fight is done.
\nTake my hand,
\nnot as a conqueror,
\nbut as one who knows
\nhow long I\u2019ve carried this weight.<\/p>\n

Tell me I have done enough.
\nTell me there is silence ahead\u2014
\nfor enough is carved in stone
\nabout the noise I made.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

At My Funeral   They lowered the coffin like bait for worms. Some were crying, some tried, some had already cried.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1914,77],"tags":[1915,1123,1926],"class_list":["post-16522","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-91","category-english","tag-egophobia-91","tag-english","tag-tushar-sen"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-4iu","jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16522","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=16522"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16522\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16523,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16522\/revisions\/16523"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=16522"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=16522"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=16522"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}