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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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