Scathing,
and sharp,
it was her harp,
it registered,
with shrill overtones,
as if an irritating fly droned,
it canned in these sounds,
inside my mind,
I kept canning them,
days after days,
till I was full to seams,
and ready to explode,
and explode I did,
with all sound on her quietly slid.
Copyright © 2026 Shishir Gupta. All Rights Reserved