Verity of my sand clad hands
Churned with ego’s lost battle.
The scars that fade away
With scratching winds
Of salt beaten eyes
Of a syrupy heart
Of unanswered grief.
A single fire that melts my
Skeleton of wine stained glass
Made a candle,
Over the wooden plated card box.
Armed with shame
You graced away the admirers
In stealthy silence.
The pigeons clasped forward
In the east trodden sky
Their deaths made a lasting appeal
Then you locked up
The treasury of words
To her
Her remaining days passed on
With the pigeons
Of the red sky
In silence.
By Sayani Mukherjee.
Picture Nick Victor