Three Poems by Kushal Poddar

 

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