Four Poems by Kushal Poddar

An Ode to The Mother of My Child

 

In the tinseltown of the motherhood

you are versatile Sophia Loren.

The sepia sunrise and baby steps

of time rock our cyclorama.

I moon over you in the late-night saga,

go gaga over your nimble fingers

handling our child's diaper,

whisper, "I shall never grow up."

The sets eventually fall apart.

Ages change. The script edits itself.

The tale tells the same.

 

 

29th April, 2022

 

The coffee, born cold, takes its sweet time.

I wait, my eyes - half and half. My patience

moonwalks through the shrapnel of wee hours' dreams.

 

The invasion of reality assesses the assets

intact and the assets lost.

You say out of context, "After a certain age

men need only one candle on top of their cakes."

 

I am more concerned about the line of control.

A wish-breath remains loaded in my lungs' silo.

 

 

They Call This Mellow Yellow

 

The tarpaulin, torn, that caught the sun

all summer now stretches its width

from one corner to the other where

a woman clad in the yellow ochre

sells salvation to the thirsty ones.

 

The heat never leaves the street;

just the other day some slugs strayed,

and annihilated innocence.

 

These happens. The pavements

empty their chambers, reload

to empty once more, and the tarp

nets more sun; the woman in bright saree

sits by her hoary patience wagging

its time eaten tail.

 

 

Mirabilia

 

I

 

The other window ferries light

to and fro, albeit

I stand with this

looking down at the garden gnomes

talkative with the breeze.

Their common tongue, silence,

tears through my curtains.

 

In the evening atmo

breeze blazes into the aurora borealis.

I hold onto the bedpost

of the rectangle where my mother sleeps.

 

II

 

It snowed near the beach,

summer hot Pacific,

and for once we all become

some lowly fishermen

who lost their boats and their wives

to the Lord of the bottles.

We scoop ice covered sands and eat.

The mirabilia of the ships

sunk centuries ahead rise and cruise

into the hearts of our insanely sane mothers.

Kushal Poddar - is an author and a father, Kushal Poddar, editor of 'Words Surfacing’, authored eight books, the latest being 'Postmarked Quarantine'. His works have been translated in eleven languages.

Find and follow him at amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet

Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/  

Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe