Euphemism

By Bijita Sharma

A dark cloud hovers over,

the induction stove.

Good grief! the induction

is no more creating

any heat,

now we can use it

as a

stony silhouette against

the dimming sky.

A sudden cold havoc

jitters

entire my organs.

The body turns

into a hard rock,

and just left

A heap of Frozen meat.

By Bijita Sharma