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Ashish Kumar Singh
Listen,
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.
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