Every ray of sunlight,

is a drop of warmth

melted by god’s eyes

You, a silver mirror,

That can glitter my hand even in the darkness,

as if a thousand ants enjoying a living feast,

for their heart’s are as restless as a lover’s hunger for voice.

In my dreams, each night,

Someone cleaves the sky with no voice.

It becomes a darkroom where I fumble with trembling hands,

my memories dipped in a pool of questions,

like a photograph being developed in a room full of darkest red wines.

I wake up to a room devoid of light,

wishing to be in a subway where no one cares for your existence if you have learned to forget your hands.

I sleep wishing the subway leads to nowhere.

A silence is a powerful noise,

When shall our ears act like our eyes?

– Shashank Bhardwaj