One weighed his miseries on a piece of cloth
on the ceiling fan
The hands that pumped life into the harmonium
lay still in the sweet cocktail made of death
Death entices like a cascade,
a ravishing beauty
When the claps ceased
the trophies gathered dust and rust
the empty playground consumed the mind
he joined the pace of the rail tracks
He saw the stress of a decisive penalty kick
None knows the language of those who commit suicide
Forgive me if I don't leave a suicide note
Go back to my words, my lines, my colours and my emptiness
Sorry...
if you don't see the gradual landslide of hope
my gradual suicide!
--- by Santhosh Kumar Kana
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