by Amit Shankar Saha
I live in a tinder box,
My friends are the matchsticks;
Whenever you see a fire,
You see a friend of mine burn.
Far away from the flame
We stay together in the box,
To prevent the shivering
In our bones, due to the cold,
In the dampness of a hope
That may make us immune
To the ritual of stones.
Copyright ©:
Amit Shankar Saha
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