Penned by B D Narayankar
When I creep into
a venue for a grist
and feel your absence
my hope begins to breathe
No footfall;
Not even a whisper
of your endearing presence,
and yet I feel
you are here - somewhere
How should I tell
in my sinews
you flow
like the blood in my veins
If you could understand this
I can then
stitch together
the tatters of our dreams
lacerating from our eyes
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