The thin gold leaves of the chants
are laid and adhered to the night.
When you finally open your eyes
you see the glints and the dark, God’s
image they taught you and you saw once
standing on a naked roof in your neighbourhood.
It was an evening, otherwise eventless.
The path back from the temple
murmurs with the fallen language.
Autumn has always been your lover.
You sniff the armpits of the wind and
snuggles with the shadows. There.
The cool God of the tropical land returns
the light. It sways from a post.
This house occupies the plot next to yours.
Identities
We built, erased, behaved with
and without goodwill. Some of us
didn’t like some of us and the way
we acted. One day history blankets us,
gives us one single identity.
I cannot even recall the why and how.
One by one the houses empty
the fields and the forests, and the light
removes the dark. Now I miss that.
Without black words stay seathed
on a page. Now in white we whisper.
Now I am unsure. Is my whispering mine?
We have nothing individual in time.
.
Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor
- Find and follow me
- @amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
- Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/
- Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe
.