"Skulls of Light" by Shome Dasgupta
Skulls Of Light
Behold — such sadness, this tilt of candle wick — should it be set to flame, oil and fire, melancholic wax drooped and hung beneath earth. A swayed pendulum, knocking stars upon stars — a musical clink it was, like marbles rattled in their palms. They listened to sorrow as heat won over — bent it became, a sad story of time and sconce and how the labra dipped its way into their skin, settled knop in dirt, it thrived to erode its bearing. A bronze of what once was splendor and bold, then only chipped and seared, as if given way to wraths of sky's breath. A meander of such, such that their placated minds irrigated, if not eroded, into combustion blue and so arrived flickers sounded in gentle furies — their heads turned this way and that to gather shelter in zones of muted memories — ashed vapors to make trails to where they once found meanings of mandibles. Now cracked — cracked smiles, a followed fault line up through braided flames, clavicles of rust and forlorn skulls, hollowed in by melted shapes of their recollections, reflections of amnesiacs — where stories were no longer relayed. Only anesthetic thoughts of fiery creations hovered around — bees of no guidance led them to strayed crackles and embers. There, they lit their own worlds on fire to find solace in their own burning heads.
Photo Credit: Staff