In the dark night

I was going.

There was forest,

There was snake

There was swan

There was the music,

But I only remember

The night,

In which I was going.


That Window

 It was a north-faced one.

I didn’t have any other window

My home, my room was all but north.

The chilling cold dried my hair

It scorched my skin.

I shivered, for years as I didn’t have

The warm south.

And one day, as I decided to quit,

The window asked me,

“Is it you? Who’s left?”


The Light

Those dark horses don’t ply

In my prime I knew them

It wasn’t time, still, you and I

Waited to be longed for

Still, you and I…waited.


Days got older as our bird

And we got cold. Dear Lord,

We sickened together

until salvage came.


Dear Lord.

And Now, we see the light

at the end of the tunnel

The horses do go,

It is their prime.

-S Mukherjee

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