I don’t have the fingers meant to hold the sewing kit or the surgeon knife
Still somewhere they know how to bind, mend the broken
Make whole of dispersed pieces
They hold a dark liquid and spill sounds
Experiences extracted, distilled,
Then added back
In wholesome rounds
Myriads of possibilities
My fingers lift becomes ethereal dance
Playing dive and drown
These portions rains on them
Shower of Light soaks souls
Our special secret
Light I allowed with fingers
“That”
curve or line traced
You didn’t stumble upon it by chance
we were meant to share this trance
– Rupika Moitra
Flutter and Glide 