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;
Pandemonium
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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