A Return to the Village 

A spark of silence blooms 
on the bird’s beak.
An orange dog, just woke up,
saunters over the ridge
between two almost squares
of soused fields.

In the farmers’ market 
today is a rotten pumpkin.
It feeds its innards to the flies,
to the mice. On the pale 
mirror of the moon my father’s 
face looks like mine

.

Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor