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Shinjini Dey

What began as the epistolary

became the closed circuit of an address

The dominant motif of time is a circle

the umbrella like an axis

dripping on my floor—wet

One tangled cord, one tributary

to slip on when I forget that you

already inside

The picket lines of this lonely revolution

have been crossed

what began as strategy

ends as algorithm

becomes a house.


Also by Shinjini Dey