Fingers

Fingers that allowed light

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

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