Chirantan Sarkar
Poems by Chirantan Sarkar
Now men will come from the shadows like rabbits.
Wind is blowing.
Cold wind grabs our ears and the edges of memory.
I remember your white fingers.
It was a sacrilege to send you back to your own shadows.
Wind is blowing.
Cold wind grabs our ears and the edges of memory.
I remember your white fingers.
It was a sacrilege to send you back to your own shadows.
Poem by Chirantan Sarkar
As the unnamed flowers burn in the deep forest
And their crimson petals disappear into the sky,
We rear our kids at home
Wondering if they will die one afternoon
With their ears open to the summer blues.
And their crimson petals disappear into the sky,
We rear our kids at home
Wondering if they will die one afternoon
With their ears open to the summer blues.