Cocoon
There are no
stories,
Here each night
is mundane and lonely
The featherless
night-birds spread their wings.
The moment I’m
looking for is buried,
Beneath the dark
staircase,
Each wound I
polish on the secret stone shines
In false lights;
it’s nostalgic too,
And strangely
when a lizard cry
The moon goes
behind the clouds,
There is a warm
darkness throughout the house.
Every musical
note now holds its own in silence,
The broken wall
scribbles the forgotten words.
Corridors are
filling up with selected alphabets,
A new world
waits on the rooftop’s ledge.
@gopallahiri
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