Late Papa’s Decaying Cottage
Chest beating at your throat
Sunlight flapping its butterfly wings,
Somersaults to six summers ago.
Car rides with Kishore on our lips,
Maa’s shidur splashes and blue, blue monsoons tucked in red powder puffs.
But the next second, life is all soaked – শোক-ed in
Sea of dramatic ivy
All-consuming essence of a wailing blood moon.
The deck looks inviting and the bed somehow slept-in.
His walking stick across wooden floor goes cluck-cluck-cluck as
The aged dog whimpers.
Tuk Tuk Tuk
Staple together some coherence.
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