A City Choked by Grief - By Priyanka Das

Written By: Priyanka Das

Category: Poetry

Competition: Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In her poignant poem "A City Choked by Grief," Priyanka Das delves into the depths of urban life and the hidden sorrows that dwell beneath its surface. This evocative piece is a part of the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar, showcasing Priyanka's ability to weave profound themes with lyrical beauty. Through vivid imagery and introspective verse, she invites readers to reflect on the unseen burdens we carry and the silent confessions of our environments.

About the Work

"A City Choked by Grief" paints a haunting picture of the unseen and unspoken emotions that accumulate beneath the facade of urban life. Priyanka Das employs rich imagery and metaphor to explore themes of hidden grief, societal neglect, and personal introspection. The poem unfolds with a somber mood, touching upon the silent, slow growth of buried emotions that eventually demand acknowledgment. It serves as a powerful reminder of the need to confront and reconcile with the parts of ourselves we often hide away.

A City Choked by Grief

Original Submission by Priyanka Das

A City Choked by Grief

Every year,

the city sends men underground

to carve human residue

from the arteries beneath it.

Not bodies.

Worse.

The things we thought

the dark had drowned;

the filth we named

and sent down, soundless;

the grease of meals,

the rot of rooms,

the little deaths

we rinsed from spoons.

Hair.

Oil.

Ash.

Old bread.

The afterlife

of all we shed.

Years of careless forgetting,

pressed into one enormous stone:

a buried beast,

a sewered throne,

a monument of what was thrown

beneath the world

and left alone.

And the frightening thing is,

it does not come like doom.

No thunder.

No wound.

No sudden bloom.

It grows in silence,

small by small,

a private fall

beneath us all.

One plate washed clean.

One hand made pure.

One lie survived.

One grief endured.

One bitter word

bit back too soon.

One lonely night

left in a room.

A shame folded inward.

A hunger made mild.

A child inside us

retrained, exiled.

A wound told softly,

"Do not be seen."

A rage made civil,

polite, and clean.

And down it goes.

Down where the city

has no face,

where even light

forgets its place,

where polished roads

and towers of glass

stand over everything

they pass.

Beneath the traffic,

beneath the bells,

beneath the offices,

temples, hotels,

beneath the mouths

that learned to say,

"I am fine,"

in a practiced way,

the tunnels swell

with all we hide:

the swallowed self,

the murdered pride,

the love that soured,

the prayer that dried,

the softer things

that slowly died.

The workers descend

with hook and blade,

into the dark

our comforts made.

Their lamps shake hard.

Their breath turns thin.

The city opens

its throat of sin.

And there it waits,

thick with years

it fed upon.

A thing without

a name or bone,

yet almost human

in its groan.

They say the smell

is not quite death.

This is older,

sour, restrained,

like life shut tight

until it stained.

Like rooms where no one

dared to cry.

Like prayers that rotted,

asking why.

Like every sorry

never said,

like every hunger

underfed,

like every heart

that learned instead

to bury fire

and call it dead.

But nothing buried

stays unfound.

It gathers root.

It learns to keep.

It finds its kin

in darker deep,

and what we would not feel

will seep.

Into the chest.

Into the tongue.

Into the songs

we leave unsung.

Into the ribs

where silence clings,

and grief grows teeth,

and memory sings.

Perhaps a city

is just a man

who learned to hide

whatever he can.

Perhaps a man

is just a street

built over wounds

that still repeat.

For every heart

has pipes below,

where nameless things

are made to go,

where tenderness

begins to rot,

where what was loved

but answered not

clings to insult,

shame, and need,

until the dark

begins to breed,

until the soul,

too full to plead,

becomes the blockage

it must bleed.

And then one day,

the breath won't pass.

The prayer won't rise.

The mirrors crack.

The water stops.

The body knows

what silence makes

when silence grows.

Then someone must

go down inside,

where all the clean

old faces lied.

Someone must kneel

where truth has thickened,

where years of "fine"

have turned and sickened.

Someone must cut

through what was kept,

through all the nights

the spirit wept,

through what was buried,

what was swept,

through every wound

that never slept.

The city calls it maintenance.

The body calls it breath.

But the soul knows

what it is -

a confession

dragged from death.

Because nothing we bury

forgets our name.

Nothing we swallow

remains the same.

It waits below

without a sound,

faithful as rot,

patient as ground,

waiting

for the day

it becomes too large,

to remain unseen

and still barge.

About the Competition

The Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar celebrates the rich tapestry of human expression through the written word. It is a platform where writers from diverse backgrounds share their unique voices and perspectives. The competition showcases a wide array of themes and styles, fostering a community of creativity and literary excellence. Participants have the opportunity to present their work to a global audience, contributing to a vibrant culture of storytelling and poetry.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Priyanka Das for her profound contribution, "A City Choked by Grief," to the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her work invites us to pause and reflect on the hidden layers of our lives and the cities we inhabit. We appreciate her participation and look forward to the continued impact of her evocative poetry.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.