A nest of receding embers glow.
Wrapped in swathes of Shadow
He cradles the brick black hole.
Antimatter that crackles with Kathmandu,
A hiss of disembodied voices and distant news.
Hunched over and deeply entranced,
He is seemingly of the same substance
As the Red earth floor.
The red earth floor
That drinks daily of spilt chai,
Of the essence of life, to be revived
In the grey half light by calloused hands.
Each previous day’s remnants
Sealed in a new layer of rich clay soil.
The Rich clay soil
That is compounded by the passage of bare feet,
With each passing winter in wood-smoke steeped,
A mute testament to ingrained routine
Whose powerful gravity permeates dreams,
Wordlessly whispers when the darkness is strong,
Here you belong. Here you belong.
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