top of page

Ashish Kumar Singh


It’s night and I stand
in the grass looking up—

the stars like a handful
of glitters thrown

by a willful child
waiting for it to shower.

When I am particularly
sad or lonely,

I count the names
of all I ever loved

and few that loved me
back. Once, I slept

with a boy who dreamed
of having a wedding

in a graveyard
and when I asked why,

he replied that if not
the living, then the dead

will be his attendees.
See, what I mean

when I say I carry
not only my own grief

but grief of all I ever put
my mouth to.

On days like these,
I want love as light

as leaves or feathers
on still water.

Because for how long
one can hold this sky

of grievance—
this needless weight,

how long before
someone says,


brother! let me

carry it for you.

bottom of page