by Ananya Sarkar
(Kolkata, India)
The answers are strewn
But the questions are missing
So when the questions arise
Do the answers go missing?
Do they lodge themselves
In the cleft of a cloud
Or the trunk of a tree
Or the lost tune of the bird that flew away?
The questions and answers exist
In perfect mismatch
Tickling man into the perpetual state of
WONDER.