We would mix Sulphur and coal for days and let them dry on the string cot in a warm sun. We would stuff the mixture in newspaper cones.
Lighted cones hissed like snakes in sky, only to dive some times to a waiting straw on sleeping houses, recently laid to roof.
We made cloth balls of pebbles in Sulphur and coal to bang on decrepit walls for loudness. We made holes in film star smiles on wall posters. We made such sound in moonless night that birds shut their ears in mango tree with not a single flutter heard in leaves.
A poet's diary 