Unlearning the Language of Hurt
by Arina Alam, India. First place in the Writory International Poetry Contest, December 2025, scored 96 out of 100.
How do those accept a love that is wholeтАФ not a crescent, but a full moon? Those who learned to speak in commas, how would they sing in chorus? How would a backbone, broken by false promises, still look up at a sky lit with countless stars? Raised among cracks and silence, how would one know that parents can be gentle? How would someone ever stop yapping who never knew the power of a gentle kiss sealing their lips? How would one recognize a second chance while busy threading a tattered life, when stitched thoughts keep unraveling, and the world notices only a cobbled-together smile? Seasons turn and change their course, spring gifts the world with new coloursтАФ even for those who have sealed their windows. But why does the heart remain moth-eaten by grief? Button eyes receive love in a feral way, fully conscious, yet not fully absorbing. A hand raised to caress can make them flinch, while the mind still carries the corpses of violence. In their pocket, rainbows flickerтАФ tiny sparks of happiness, like glossy marble. Those eyes fall automatically, searching for a safe corner, when love is new but not gentle, not hushed, not assuring.
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