Sangeeta Banerjee


Stars depart,

And the sky becomes a black hole,

Yet again,

Devouring the shrieks of a woman unknown.

The darkness, abysmal,

Like a mother’s womb

Decks up the city in lights.

The crusty hands paint and ask,

“Are the sinners redeemed?”


Lights depart,

And the sky becomes a pale blue

Reflection of what we call life,

Yet again,

Engulfing us in drudgery.

The silence is heard – loud, clear and ringing,

As we try to remember,

“What were we celebrating?”