Baby, the stairs will always creak
In the hallways of some memory
As it will grow quiet and bleak
Like a peace lily in the nursery
Baby, in the Bunsen of your incense
How all of a scattered life became
Glued in your arms, in an instance
Stars and moon as witnesses came
Don’t think he expected too much
Don’t think he was quick to plunge
Don’t think you’ll flush your touch
Like you can water out from sponge
But baby, you are for higher things
Beyond this, in other milky ways
A meteor spark on immortal wings
Lies crumbling in earthly haze
April 5, 2026
Arup K. Chatterjee 