The wrinkled poster of the God
has a leak, and at night, when
the clamour ceases, the breeze
our ceiling fan creates enter
into His heart and makes
a whooshing exit. And we
look at Him in the dark
after making love. A digital
watch lets two luminous bubbles
retrieve the belief – He exists,
He exists. A night bird scolds
a serpent, The cold of the straw
scratches the congealed nowhere.
The House Has Patchwork Walls
The mother hid the news about her
mutating and decaying cells. Her mother
taught her how badly the boys
take those facts. The pillowcase had
an overflowing sunrise stain. She turned
the pillow, realised that it was the Sun
afterall.
The boy
told her about a hurried wedding, and she
told him about the secrets and placebos
effective in a long relationship.
A timely period saves every ending.
The boy told her about the feline.
“Don’t keep an empty litter box.” She says.
A magpie stares through the pane.
Not everything is a metaphor.
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Picture and words
Kushal Poddar
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