Glow worm

Just across the boundary hedge, they were flying.
You place a hand on the low brick wall,
swing yourself across.

Suddenly, you are one among them.
One more body —
Within their constellation.

The darkness unmitigated
And the field before us — dug up.
They move and glitter,
move again,
Until their lights circle us.

Too much flicker for a single capture.
‘The old aperture
cannot record flames
rising and dousing
at this speed,’ you said.

‘Only eyes can,’ I thought.
But eyes have limits.
Push them far enough, and they burn.

They did burn.
And their purulent remains now carry the memory of that fire —
splattering, smudging, sousing:
the spectre of an ageless incandescence.

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Rongili Biswas is a bilingual writer and musician from Kolkata who has lived in the UK, France, and Italy. She has published a novel and a short story collection and edited three books. Her work, including fiction, essays, memoirs, travelogues, and poetry, has appeared in journals such as The Telegraph, Plum Tree Tavern, Danse Macabre, The Wise Owl, The Writing Disorder, etc. She has won the Bangla Academy Award (2015) for her novel Jahangir, who had disappeared from custody, and the Katha Award (2005) for The Ballad of the Palm Trees. She was also one of the finalists at the Iceland Writers’ Retreat, 2023 Award.