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written by: Kabir Deb


Let the sky bleed;
It’s her habit to be haemophilic;
Shades won’t reflect until it gets hurt;
Twice our mind will be a pessimist;
In the form of superstitious monks;

Let the sky be a pregnant lady;
Her pain will be treated by silent flamingoes;
She will give birth to some wools;
To stop the winter to engulf her;
Adding some veins in the form of fierce typhoons;
To scare away the monsters trying to steal her babies;
Twice our mind will be an optimist;
Like some peaceful eskimos;

But it’s like the initial release of smoke from the lips;
The release extends the time;
So that the lungs respire;
One has to release the water to quench numerous thirst;
The endless desert won’t survive the peace of an oasis;

It’s the power of a ‘She’;
That dodges even the painful death;
Even the blazing sun repels from her blood;
Try not to jump off the blackened cliff;
One jump and the sky will be a colourless illusion.

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