A soothing sadness, the colour
of mellow afternoons, glides in.
Tears soak stationary hours
and passing cataclysms.
Annapurna’s and Ali Akbar’s fingers
work gritty strings. Particles of
bizarre are spliced together in
a dystopian harmony. For now.
Negotiating years and terrains
Manj Khamaj keeps breathing.
A footsure confidant. In its
folds, wars lose their way.
The notes explode into a million
neurons. Flames of a ravaging fire,
accrued. The jhala races restlessly
like brittle rain swathing scars.
Bhaswati Ghosh 