Glimmers of the Night

“On All that Strand

Glimmers of night. Glimmer, then a little dimmer still. Night is when we see. Where to see is to strain the eyes. That is when they come alive. All that cannot be seen in a shower of light. The little that remains at the edge of light is precious indeed. Population has decreased finally. The places are populated by themselves if not by others still. What is closed is open to images and texts betray reality, here in this half-light. There is death in the light. A death, full of coins: a face darker than ever in the light. In the dark is the jest, as it was in the beginning. The strides of movement make scratches in this dark. There you have a purchase on the dark. It better be. The pursuit for company and a slow scuttling sound. Someone has passed by just now but as if never been. Always but as if never! That is where they come alive. Images restore silence to objects. The waves have lulled them to sleep and everything is there in its final place, as it were. That is how they are…will be forever. The subdued glance of the little boy glides past the balloons waiting for the sky. They sit upon the empty chairs only to go up slowly into thin air. The strand gains the sky. Moment by moment. Moment upon moment. Glimmer gleaming on till dimmer and dimmest still. Night is the time to read love letters or obituaries better still. There is a lump of soil between the two.

At End of Day”


Arka Chattopadhyay