While his guitar by Kushal Poddar

I am not a silent poet

We light a frail candle.

Waves. Canopy. Phosphorus.

His strings garrotte 

the darkness.

A dying blaze traverses 

the nighttime firmament,

and you fix a wish

with your finger tip

calloused from working on me.

Music. Bonfire.

Everything is as unbroken 

as everything ground

again and again and once more.

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