The following poem by Anamika Tamuli from Jorhat in Assam won the first prize of Fifty Thousand Rupees and book publication in Wingword Poetry Prize 2026.
i started this yesterday. or the day before.
does it matter. i don't like the smell of masala clinging to my sleep.
i meant to write about
something.
Something about anger—
The kind that rises
when the land is ploughed and my house falls apart again.
sorry i have to
soak the rice
i had to check on the fever.
I had to wipe the counter, then the floor, then my own mouth.
10:42 a.m.
Father doesn’t believe in help.
He’ll break his back before asking for it.
today he is angry
because the tomatoes went bad and I forgot the second sabzi and that i am not a doctor
and
Ma needs paracetamol.
1:17 p.m.
i think I was saying—
I am tired.
not the kind of tired sleep can fix
i dream of recipes or the timeline of english literature
i cannot find my slippers i think i didnt keep them properly father must be angry. how tightly to shut the fridge door,
how to fold grief so it looks like duty.
I read somewhere that care is political.
i must cook lunch before facebook shows another cousin
with a government job
a wedding date
5:08 p.m.
I was staring at the rain-filled pond.
The land’s been sold. battered land, half-sold and half-waiting, has become a pond. I click photos like I’m proof that something beautiful still exists
marriage
grades career
the fever hit last night.
I slept all day. i want someone to touch my forehead
I made tea for everyone.
morning
she's sick now.
I do the kitchen. She doesnt like being told what to do.
I cried while chopping garlic.
i cleaned the spew
day
I want to have an opinion
I want to talk politics outside
the kitchen
find my name in a bibliography read a novel or two
or maybe just write something whole
a full sentence a full
thought