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The Cysts of Time | A Poem by Aritrik Dutta Chowdhury

The cysts are drying within.
The cups shrivel up
Like tendrils
Awaiting an uncoil.
The bygone blood
Soaks my denims,
Flooding me
In the pool of sinful glory;
Ravishing my pride
And chiselling my wounds
To shape a life too perfect —
Lacking the beauty of the novice
And the charm of a Bohemian.

My bicycle
Rides itself
In an unknown hand
Missing the quick voyages
To the ship of faith.
The calling bell tolls
Of strangers,
My bed awaits your falling follicles
Of a monsoon ague.

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