Poets have no countries . Except the wild taste of memory ; the tapestry of pain.
…………….

The wind howls at my window as I grapple with strange destiny. This road leads
me back to the winter we have left far behind.

Pritish Nandy *




In this all pervading dusk
as Sawan lashes out
unabated
frenzied
Unstoppable
beloved,
I am reminded
of moments….


….when  you were
My fire , wind and ocean
And me the pliant Earth
Being molded
By your light…darkness
And twilights.


Now I am just
Helpless rain drop
Lost somewhere
In nameless storms
Dreaming maybe one day…


I would drizzle
Across your soils
Until then
Let  me adorn
My silences…

With perennial nostalgia