Day, Evening, Night
I
One
deconstructed dandelion,
or
one million,
panic-attacks
the wind.
Sun,
caught in the swirls, holds
on to a Falcon.
II
And
then the moon tilts the scene,
now
a bit dark, now a little sapped,
and
slaps the girl jogging in pink tights
and
all the leaves lost the fight alike.
Here
is a iron fenced park.
Here
are the tired parents leaning against
the
black railings surrounding the water,
and
there, their daughters fly from the dive-board.
Moonlight
toils away shining the breeze,
trees, swans, lawns.
III
As
she switches on
the
ceiling fan
the
metropolitan subsistence
rotates.
Thoughts
trickle through
the
sense's sugar cube,
and
blood turns green, absinthe.
Night
drowns in its Cirrhosis,
and
yet dream awakens to the days coming.
Java-synthesis
The
barista nods and says,
the
coffee is freshly roasted.
It
smells like the armpits
of
those cherry-pickers who's stripped
the
four years old plant in some estate.
The
silence in the café
blinks,
a faulty neon.
I
worship it, sip, and still
the
Godly hour shifts.
An
inner gypsy drunken on Hemingway
says,
he can sniff death.
I
answer, it is only those labourers.
Toilet
Imagine
darkness multiplied by two;
imagine
a stream of blood
in
your urine, and the noise
made
by the tap, a white-wheat
barn
owl in the skylight.
The
toilet door bangs itself.
"Too
late." It says.
You
eye for the owl's wings and the talons.
Time
scurries away like a tired mouse.
Kushal Poddar - is an author and a father. The editor of 'Words Surfacing’, he has 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
Twitter-
https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe
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