A Scene Poem by Pinaki Dewan

He stood expressionless in the dark, empty room, one gloved hand tightly gripping a red kite, another naked hand a dynamite; and nothing of the gloom pervading the dense conurbation, nothing of the tenebrous horizon; only a conflagrant siren weeping ceaselessly with the bedraggled wind, and a porch-climber panting, running through the vacant boulevard, and I, a little sad, immersing my old self with the new horrors of destruction.