Debanjan Dhar (14.6.1989 / Calcutta)
Futile bonding know their fate
So all that matters is the end.
Answers hidden but not sought for
May surface but reasons would not.
On a cold day, in a damp room,
In a corner you’ll find a locked chest.
The key to the chest may be buried
Or burnt down or fed to the birds
On a howling night you remain deaf,
Eyebrow clouds twist and frown.
Wise night touches your warm forehead,
The howling stops so you may sleep.
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