Thursday, November 14, 2013



Love was the beautiful bread you baked.

Now all you have left are the crumbs.

Go on,

Lay them outside your door.


A sparrow needs but a few morsels

To survive the long winter;




From the cauldron of eternity

We were given time,

Brief, borrowed, and not our own;


Just a few years, some summers,

A fistful of brief hours

In the light of the dying sun;


And we, in all our wisdom,

Have made such a fine mess

Of even this gift;
Diptesh Ghosh

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