The Soiled Keyboard

​At the fork, I am all in  for the impending fight. Destiny, eh?

A tomb that offers

posterity to my right.

A restless struggle that gifts

immortality on my left.

​I squat down,

feel the rubble, 

knead till I soil my fingers,

and then type out my will.

At the end of it, alas,

I stare at a blank screen,

and a soiled keyboard,

tainted brick red.

At last, my destiny...

The smudges on my 

favoured letters, and words strung,

act as its coloured reminder.

— Leslie

(I type words not to fill blank pages, but to redden the pattern of smudges on my laptop keys)

Brownian Destiny

​She beholds 'em in awe,

the falling leaves of spring,

the Palash bloom who,

in jest,

tapped her left shoulder;

made her turn right,

towards the right hues of life,

bright red, dreamy yellow.​​

We too,

I sigh and smile,

live our Brownian lives,

swaying with the mystical laws...

Of physics, blessings and fate,

our dreams and destiny.

Pic: Sreetama Bagchi

Our Tomorrow!

This piece of time,

It’s broken;

no, it’s alive,

the Eagle lives;

and circles around

its latest prey, I.

For my time,

I wait!

The sign of life,

the tiny twitches

of my vein,

insults me, and my heart!

Where is my pulse?

Her voice.

Where is my will?

Her smile.

Where is my life?

There, beyond reach,

it’s chained onto the

long arm of the

cruel clock on my right,

in this dark room.

The right time...

Destiny’s hand it is;

now, hold me, my right arm;

it’s time,

it’s midnight,

and tomorrow is ours...