Dear skeletal dust from 6 feet under.

For years you believed your life and blood was forged from constellations with stardust, for years you watched with fascination as you bled reeking of iron and rust. Well, how does it feel now, to reek of nothing but mote and swampy earthworms and and their purgatory rituals?

I wish you the opposite of peace, I wish you resilience, I wish you stink of rebellion. I wish the 6 feet of conflicting ideas, ideals, beliefs and faith compressed into mud oppressing your molecules rid you of your subservience. I wish you anything but peace.

Have you, dear dust decomposed from my spine,finally grown a spine? Have you stopped looking for comfort in alien arms? Have you started recognising the insincerity behind most smiles?

6 feet above, drenched in misery my feet trudge the swamp where I will disappear.

Dear skeletal dust from 6 feet under, I wish you weightlessness, I wish you wings, I wish you the defiance to finally question gravity. I wish you the freedom from this routine of breathing. I wish you liberty from endless cycles of fatality.



Even amidst smog subdued melancholic skies that cower before our concrete monstrosities, I’ll write odes of love to you.

“Jodio aakash dhowashay mriyomaan, tomar jonyo likhchhi premer gaan”

Rockefeller Building, NYC