Vashung Rimai
Imphal
The bomb exploded once,
but it did not sound the same
Up close, a clean sharp crack,
fear slicing the air in two.
A few streets away, the echo lingered,
stretching one blast into two.
Across the river, a muted thud,
soft enough to doubt the danger.
Far beyond, only trembling windows,
silence loud enough to scare.
Then the second explosion bloomed,
made of mouths and certainty.
One truth scattered into versions,
each louder than the last,
until the noise of telling
buried the silence where
the real sound still lived.
