Friday 18 November 2022

Four Poems by Kushal Poddar

The Way We Depart

We intrude the brick field

famed for the copulating

crickets and darkness.

The last cigarette draws

an ephemeral fire arch, orbit

of some celestial sigh.

Thus we depart. Friend's falling

failing the faith upon a wish-star.

The old houses where we lived

are already replaced with

the spikes of newer wistful edifices.


A herd of fat feisty sleep grazes cold.

Turn, toss, leap, fall on the morning's stone-bed.

The edges of consciousness pierces,

slashes plain through.

In the slaughter house of the day

I hang my shadow on the gambrel hooks

of a memory I cannot recall.

It is a carcass. It sleeps until I choose to consume it.


No one possesses this road this early.

The juxtaposition of ebony tar and light,

and the uneven patches where monsoon

dug its heels in welcome me as I lodge my claims.

In ten minutes I exhaust my energy to jog.

My shadow hibernates beside a boulder.

I have no power over this life I adore

because of these elongated winters,

caves of sleep, leaves of crackling, goodbyes



Fields turn brief beneath our running feet,

and the bridge, squares of formless green,

trees sketched by me when I was six.

If you ask me why we run we cannot tell.

There is a feeling. A trace of an urge.

Noon showers upon us, warm piss.

A hiss says that our ankles will be

dotted with fang-marks. We can comprehend

the serpent. Time winters here. We should not race.

An author, journalist, and father, Kushal Poddar, editor of 'Words Surfacing’, authored eight books, the latest being 'Postmarked Quarantine'. His works have been translated into eleven languages.

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