An
After-blast Rain
And
the after-blast rain
cleanses
our gutters and
cherry
blossoms alike;
oh,
lave us until we
reveal
our pith, skeletal basics.
No
race for the dead,
we
have been reminded often.
The
sun bleaches the rubble.
Our
smile acid, eyes transfixed,
some
roaches scurry up to snuff
the
Spring smouldering in the breeze.
A
new leaf breaks heart,
we
often witness and shiver.
Pieced Cores Hold Together
What
does peace do during
a
wartime? Drink green
tea
in her chill and unlit kitchen
with
the news of the belligerent
muted
on her east wall?
She
prefers the glacial room
to
send some shivers and needles
into
her core. These days are
her
sojourn, of her tarry reveries;
she
sits sleepy sleeplessly;
her
unborn sons in the conflict,
and
the flight of her thoughts
wrecked
nose-down amidst a firestorm.
Her
tea has turned ice; it burns her tongue;
she
has a ruin ready for the refugee words,
to
resort to, and yet there comes none.
On
her window sill one bird lowers
a
flapping mail. She turns her head
to
see. A falcon? A dove may be?
Of
The Oil, Kitten, And Crow
The
caws of the crow fancies a flight
midst
the foggy skyline, ringtrasse.
Wednesday
evacuates one kitten's mewling
from
the ruins of the light.
One
morning-walker's face
floats
on the motor oil rainbow.
How
heavy his creases and contours look;
how
light and stock-still as if
there
never was a tremor of violence
near
this rainwater body!
And
then he stares at the crow,
now
settled on one jugged fragment of sun.
The kitten whines from the shadows' debris.
Kushal Poddar - is 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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