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The Dagger’s Deliverance

By Mohit Jain


The metal glistened in the rain, As the hand propelled it towards bare skin.

The Serrated blade tore through the flesh, As if, the impish edge wanted perpetual pain. Was it uncomfortable? Came the question.


You pause, structure your thoughts, Recollecting blanched days of insignificance, After the bloodied evening, when it came into motion. The blade drives on inch by inch to its mark.

Every bit more agonizing than the last. Pushed mercilessly by a hand in the dark. Finally, impales the beating innocent little heart.

You press on, think of the answer again, Nothing comes out of the wizened mind, Neither sorrow for the fateful day, Nor the euphoria of the wisdom gained.

The blade now rests in peaceful serenity, The prideful hilt inhabits the chest. No movement desired, none expected. The damage is done, with all its severity.

Losing a soul isn’t so bad, you maintain, How would you fear a broken heart when none exists? You can now either rush through the universe intrepid, Or wait for a miracle, until a blade ends it all again. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

About the Author: Mohit Jain is from the Batch of 2016–18. He interned at Godrej and was the President of IMF.

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