where the vision ends, that's not the edge
flowers which never bloomed
of earth, the world is existed around
the persona, in the sombre
apathetic faces, the
life bawls in
gloom
corner of ruined shrines, the unknown - -
scream resonate from the fetus,
asks to creator the question
of survival, the world
emerges in the
silence
of cemeteries together the anguish of so
called notorious red light area ! in
the last o'clock, life turns -
around with the
multiple
fragmentary body ! when the cars run on
the spiral flyovers, life awakes
beneath the dream from
the pit of hunger
and
helplessness, the colorless footpath - - -
spell out the depth of wound !
* *
- SHANTANU SANYAL
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