Koel Banerjee


Here And Now

The clock rather tentatively spells Three,
And the sun lustily licks the remnants of darkness,
As your city lazily inches towards morning.
In some other sphere of being. Remote.
Half-lying, I read about your icicle.

I try to imagine an icicle, rolling the word
Over and over on my tongue. As if, to spell it
Would be to feel its chill spreading in the semi dark.

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