A song fizzes and flows
out of the bottle. Its redolence
makes me want you again,
not you, the safe house, cocoon
of your womb.
I want another soporific nine-months,
and when I shall emerge
it will be April again,
and our radio works;
a station plays your voice.
Your career in singing isn't
shortened by my birth this time.
Copyright © 2024 Kushal Poddar
All Rights Reserved
The author of Postmarked Quarantine, Kushal Poddar has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of Words Surfacing. His works have been translated into twelve languages, published across the globe. You can follow Kushal on Twitter.
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This poem is quite bitter sweet.
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The longing, for the, rebirth of the, new, self…
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This is a beautiful poem to your mother, Kushal! And Happy Birthday! 🎊🎁🎉🎈🎂
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A lovely poem 👏
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