(for Antony Owen)
bones roll emptily in failed bodies
the puddle of skies
so brilliant
likeness of mouths
fractured into the musk of food
each air strike
spangles
eyes
in every crevice
millions across someone’s piano
millions across your poem
millions across my untitled sketches of babies
so brilliant
to scavenge
their own deaths
I am not a silent poet 
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Thanks Debasis your poem is moving and the part about your sketches is intriguing in that the untitled drawings are almost testament to these unknown people few care for. Keep writing we need more poems like this.
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