“Comforting My Friend” by Kushal Poddar

I too have read the book,skipped the verses on bereavementthe way one relies on the footnotesto survive his biology testand later regret. Today near the dead and hergrieving offspring I fail.I lower my head. I too have deathand deafness on my palms.I study. Copyright © 2024 Kushal PoddarAll Rights Reserved The author of Postmarked Quarantine, Kushal Poddar has…

“A Bottle of Scented Ink” by Kushal Poddar

A song fizzes and flows out of the bottle. Its redolencemakes me want you again,not you, the safe house, cocoonof your womb.I want another soporific nine-months,and when I shall emergeit will be April again,and our radio works;a station plays your voice.Your career in singing isn’tshortened by my birth this time.Copyright © 2024 Kushal PoddarAll Rights Reserved…

“Black Monk” by Kushal Poddar

Night plays with the outer walls.Black acts rebellious, defies gravity’s reign.The monks who fed us a dozen orangespray in far side dormitory. Hearing is holy.Forgetting doesn’t mean walking awayfrom a memory. I step into the sleep’s garden,write your names with pebbles – all small letters,and realise that instead of a name it is a long…

“Museum of Shadows” by Kushal Poddar

One year ago you availed some scissorsto censor your tongue, burned downthe tree you buried your clapper underneath.Evening was a nursery of noises.They susurrated the synonyms of your sins. I still visit you. You, sedated,follow the shadows we cast.We have so many shadesthat we should make a museum of those.Copyright © 2024 Kushal PoddarAll Rights Reserved…

”Winter Drones” by Kushal Poddar

The death of the bird, lone,on the winter’s clothesline, goesunhailed even by itself, clandestine. Sometimes I see it. It poses likefigure ‘One’, pluse on the upper segmentof the sky bisected by the wire. Everything below is light and decorative.Mistletoes drain the old trees.My drone lips hit yours. The explosiondoesn’t vex the curtains.Copyright © 2024 Kushal PoddarAll Rights…

“Dodo, Come to My World” by Kushal Poddar

The neighbour who buys fish entrails to feed sudden-crows that flock onto his flat roof  has too much soul for his body. He grins when I nod in morning and complain about the heat, “If it soars any more we’ll cease to exist.” He whispers to the invisible, “Dodo, come to my world ”  Some…

“The Ecosystem of Belief” by Kushal Poddar

On my palm the circles of perforated clouds highlight myths and illusions.  The future, I read, chokes in the red smoke. It began even before past was conceived. I trowel in ripe soil at the base of a rescue-plant. It is my support tree. It is the excuse to live, read my hands, yawn and…

“White Noises” by Kushal Poddar

I visit him  in his nursing home room so white noisy  so calm and report my whole life. Every Sunday. And then I repeat. Every Sunday you go to your place of worship confess your sin in a muffled voice and ask for the miracles. And then you repeat.  Copyright © 2023 Kushal Poddar All…

“Depression Journal” by Kushal Poddar

The man lying in the couch feels the filigree of the light on the dark wall as if his index finger can grow by a few feet and touch the texture. Almost dawn. The overlay of the Sun colours the yard. His daughter shakes him again, “Wake up, dad.” He is awake; he doesn’t stir….

“The railings” by Kushal Poddar

I have left the balcony’s door open again not on purpose or as a ritual. The timber panel lingers on the skin  of my hands. This is how my mind  would have felt like if I could hold  it physically, but my hands  would have slackened the grip, slipped  and sank in the blue between …