His creativity develops as the flesh in a black oyster in the bottom of poverty. Worms fed only on the flesh of generations. All genres of their experiences live in voice. Mani picks up their songs with suppressed dreams and pangs. As he sings, the audience catches fire; they dance like flames in his voice. He juggles like a wizard of emotions. Some lines are salty; some others juicy. A village virgin blushes and blooms in the old lantern light in his folk song. His liver and kidneys have turned as ant-eaten biscuits. Still he remains sweet. He’s an entangled firefly in a web with a spider drawing near, yet he emits light. Kalabhavan Mani was a well-known folksinger and cine artist from Kerala, India, who passed away recently. First published in The Literary Hatchet, by Pear Tree Press, US, and then reprinted in my book, 'Eternal Fragments' by erbacce press, UK.