A cat, gray or of some
vaguely different coat, lost,
but not quite so,
slanted perchance, askew with
the memory map
where X marks the safe place
between the bricks and glass,
pots and plants, dry yard
and moist basement,
rubs its presence
against my trouser legs.
As long as I don’t look down
it exists and it doesn’t.
The wind plays with the cat’s
perception of the past.
What’s the colour of the house
or its shape? Is it on the right? Left?
Does the owner wear glasses?
Does he have eyes at all?
Do his hairs rise as well
like this stranger’s when
the feline presses its body
against his flesh?
Kushal Poddar
Words & Picture
Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
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Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe
amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe
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