The rhythm wasn’t composed by the savant
Some nocturnal churnings handed over those tunes through gremlins
Strolling down the ancient cobbled pavements, keeping an eye on sleepless souls
There’s certainly some magic in the air
Not one that is imagined by the purist magician, but of some devious wizard
Tap, tap, tap, comes strolling the words for the epitaph
Of fallen dreams and jealous pursuits from the abysses of anguish and destruction
Odious breath prophesies the most sinister of deeds that are contemplated
~Amitav
Amitav Chowdhury 