In the market, after years you appeared,
I saw your lips, moist, trembling, distressed,
We both had stuff for our respective children, to take home,
The touch of warm honey christened my soul,
Your meat was still cold.

Subham Basak



Moths To The Fire

The talking was short, the fire was lit for the moths,

Pauses breathed of craving, us pulled and pestered by Silence’s gravity,

Longer rose the flames of warmth, two naïve souls

Trepid at the doors of Love,

Muscles fought Desire, Desire battling Morality,

And when eyes found home in eyes, and our lonely skins could no longer hide,

That night, I loved kissing the silence on her body.



(Nov 19, 2015)