Between The Destructions

Music dies, and so wanes the city
on the other side; holy water,
sand grains, this planet and the one
we planned to rocket through
years ago when we dreamed 
of a jetpack wearing future all wither.

Time is plastic; it stays; pollutes 
the quality of death. 

These have never been here anyway.
Here doesn’t exist. You and I
were foams between the subatomic particles.
We desired us and the shards of the universe
scattered every way, but there was no way.

Here we go, have returned to zero.
Now music will be born again
and the worlds will flourish.




Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor




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