Achilles heel

by Kingshuk Chakraborty

How much of a snail

Should come out of its shell

And still be safe?

How much of its chest

Be out to stay discreet?

Words like fools when welter,

Holding hearts in their palms,

They are nothing but dust

Would be trampled beneath feet.

My Sun-kissed heart,

In starlit sleepless nights,

Drank rays of Moon

Beside the bridge of words.

And its imprint

During some storms

On the wet infirm ground

Left an outline of future

Of a destitute refugee.

At sunset,

The sky drenched in blood

Drops the darkness

On the turbulent sea.

Lifeless words

Will sleep forever

As they know by now

Much of me.

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