The Fingers From The Site of Bomb Blast by Kushal Poddar

I am not a silent poet

There must be one man
who gathers fingers
scattered after a blast,
pours them into a pail
at the basement
of his brick house,
cleans them and waits
until they move their poles
to point at one direction,
only they never do that.
They level at each other
and rot away.

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