At The Q of The Summer

 

Now, at the Q of the summer, beginning, the shadows of the steeples
have not yet dared to enter inside
the the temple. Words are unformed;
sentences are unstructured. The beggar,
crazy, curses all who does not provide.
The steps to the dark door ajar host
the slumber party of the dogs. I walk
forever, tapping the tips of the shadows
displaying my OCD to no one and all.
Ten helping hands chop the weather-change
in the rice bowl of the market. The spices are fresh.
The smell is stale. Those sweat-crystals
do not make the food salty enought yet.

 

 

 

 

Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor

Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India

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