The Dance

Pages of stories sailing in the air…

I caught hold of one and read on. You were born…

There was a space. I thought of writing a line.

Pages of stories plunging, again picked up by the breeze…

And i remember you just as incomplete, unfinished,

And just you and not the scent of the grave…


Pages of stories, all dancing in a gale,

In mine, I had wished you well—

And may the wind carry you to love, far and new,

O girl, tell me, once I too had danced with you.


Subham Basak

(November, 2015)



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