Tag Archives: Sayan Aich Bhowmik

After dinner The entire city Speaks through my radio. The rich and the rickshaw puller The divorced and the reckless. The whore who fucks in love And the ones restless in bed. Each voice, like leftover food Now sits on … Continue reading →

The wind scratches against The window of the Sky Its nails overgrown with the years. The storm that was meant to arrive Has waited for a worthy candle To show the way. And now one waits for The invitation of … Continue reading →