Politics
The cat, a true one because
Only its eyes’ filaments
Can be seen in this darkness,
Replaces the dog on the wall
The last barking stirs the air
Mewls mix with it for awhile,
And then only the mewls exist.
All day these two beasts
Have been fighting over the garbage.
Let’s not talk about politics.
Not tonight. Somewhere
Rain falls on its feet.
The Slow Dog
One slow dog strolls
On the low fence.
A tree almost one with
The November night
Spills half and half
On both the sides of this world.
The wall stands as it is,
Albeit everything else man made
Has been mended.
One slow dog leaps
Into the parallel history.
I stare through my pane.
That’s all to this story.
Hunger
My grandmother’s how to cook hunger
Is safe in some government locker.
She used to begin with kneading the
air.
Rest I cannot remember.
The great great grand kitten of her
last pet
Mewls hollowness in her withered
kitchen garden.
I open the window, take a spoonful,
Listen to the ting of the spoon
hitting
The base of the bowl.
Calendar
Somewhere, the last year
Still holds on to the hinges,
And one drunken overcoat
Misses the hook on the wall,
And its fall sounds soft –
One last leaf leaving the calendar.
The barren square inches
Of holographic past haunts
Near the midnight.
Some clock slurs a tick and a tock.
You already mislaid the new calendar.
My call from the morning sphere
Hits a echoing blind alley.
An author and a father, Kushal Poddar, edited a magazine - ‘Words Surfacing’, authored eight volumes including ‘The Circus Came To My Island’, 'A Place For Your Ghost Animals', 'Eternity Restoration Project- Selected and New Poems' and 'Postmarked Quarantine'. His works have been translated in eleven languages.
Find and follow him at amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
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