4 POEMS BY KUSHAL PODDAR

RIDDLES

One July your father disappears.

In his mind someday you will solve

the mystery of logics behind,

never understanding that to decipher

a riddle one needs a partial anamnesis

seeking the wholeness. One July

comes oblivion. A face. Then nothingness.


Most of the years chubasco blows this month.

Some leaves stick to their branches.


MURMURATION

Tim’s daughter’s loneliness kisses 

her tutor’s.

The couch smells of spilled caffeine

dried into dust.

That night the tutor will bury a box in

his backyard –

ash to ashes, dust to dust.


Tim does not know about all these.

He moves his hand to birth a sterlings’ murmuration outside the old mill.

I have nothing more to report for now.


THE UNLOCKING OF THE PUBS

When the pubs open their mouths

between two thighs of pestilence

I bid for a pint of both black and tan.

Saqi, let the thirst die along with the thirsty.

You have a red plague mask on. I raise mine

to sip from the heavy chested glassware.

Social distance makes the squeak and squeal of the rats heard.

Shadows of people populate this ghost town.

Pour a second. I raise my glass, empty.

You can still give those expressions even wearing masks.

An evening for the lady. I order. Wind blows outside.

Everything is heard.


THE SONOGRAM OR A FAULTY MEMORY

The sonogram shows the drowned;

a deep breath begins to singe my inside;

I cannot quite reach the great depth 

where the memories wrecked 

and sunken turn into a shapeless green.

(Imagine something evergreen and yet never in vogue.)


The sonogram, if (“If” – you used to utter

like a long suppressed sneeze) anything,

questions me, “What do you see in this Rorschach?”

and I say, “One man toying with his braised chicken

thinking – the only company he has for dinner is fried and stewed.”


Imagine the object caught by the sonograph 

feels and feels like confessing to someone

typing on an old world typewriter. He has to hit

some keys thrice to get the right impression. 

(Oh, what does it say? I fail my diving instructions again.)


A poet and a father, Kushal Poddar has edited Words Surfacing, a poetry magazine, and is the author of seven volumes of poetry, including The Circus Came To My Island, A Place For Your Ghost Animals, Eternity Restoration Project – Selected and New Poems and Herding My Thoughts To The Slaughterhouse – A Prequel. Find and follow him on Amazon, Facebook, and Twitter.  

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