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Everything’s broken-

The rusty chair, the vase,

The handle of the nearly unused pan,

The bedroom mirror,

The lamp on the terrace,

The switch of the shrieking fan.

 

Twigs of the guava,

One wing of the parrot,

The lock of its lonesome cage,

The sight of the hills,

The neighbour’s swing,

And, the weatherman’s gauge.

 

The road to the fair,

The bridge to the kin,

And trails of the confused dog.

The morning’s calm,

The eerie sun,

That looks like a raged hedgehog.

 

But, that’s alright.

The storm didn’t touch

The tender stealth of the night.

Wrapped in fleece

Of crazy nerve

Sleeps my child of the light.

 

The verse of the song,

The flow of the hint,

The depth of the boundless grief,

Pulled through the storm,

Of ghastly charm

And deep, unplumbed mischief.

 

Author
Sarath Chandran Pulluttiparambil
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