I fold the corners
Of a very desperate sky.
The stars I had to throw away,
On highways that know
Where they are going.
With the attention of a last bencher
Ignoring his lessons,
I chisel my name
On the sadness of the sky’s dark blue.
The space between the clouds,
I tie with guitar strings
Which catch fire every time
Someone utters your name.
My neatly folded sky
Has cigarette burns all over its skin.
Sayan Aich Bhowmik is currently Assistant Professor in the Department of English at Shirakole Mahavidyalaya, Kolkata. When not under the burden of answer scripts, departmental work and meeting deadlines, he can be found nurturing his love for watching movies and writing poetry. A published poet, he is also the editor of the blog Plato’s Caves, a semi-academic space for discussion on life, culture and literature.
