Pradip Chattopadhyay (28.01.1961 / Kolkata)
Enslaved in her dark waves
I ride the night.
In this journey in starlight
I pass by the witch flying on her broom,
Her eyes not vengeful but wear weary gloom,
For though she’s forever going away from earth
Pines for a home and hearth,
While I disintegrate into comets
Dreaming one day to find my way back to the sun.
Absurdly wondrous my night trek
In piercing moonlight towards stars.
As in the endless firmament I rush,
Sleeplessness seems no more a curse.
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