Things embraced by the arms fall prey to the clasped palms
Turning them into dust and returning them somewhere
Where they stand in a heap in some abandoned land
Withered things do not fascinate or inspire the feelings to care
Raven night forms a cluster of thoughts foretelling the health of dawn
Bruised hearts do not heal because of a pale sun
Fiery grounds yield smoky times to shroud the celestial energies
Wounds remain open and feet cannot run on depleted times
Enveloped orb speak of troubled moments in frail voices
~Amitav
Amitav Chowdhury 