By: Sneha Subramanian Kanta Sometimes stagnant ink dries; And at others the paper is crumpled. His eyes have stopped speaking now for long Yet silences move across nudging distances unsaid. Brinks of a brown coloured table Hold two candles on a…

By: Sneha Subramanian Kanta Sometimes when words delude One may hope to start with a prelude Quiet corners have intense rumblings profound With fire like flames burning ceaselessly around. Surrender to the dark For ’tis the only companion that doesn’t mock…