The dream of a cavalry and free horses
falling from the balconies of a mansion
throbs and lingers underneath my eyelids.
I fell in love will the grass, fell asleep.
Your face hovers when I open my sight,
“Hello, earthling.”
An old telegraph message runs on a wire.
Everywhere the blades of grass try to wipe
the blood of the Sun on the blades of the grass.
I extend my hand. You have been lifting
me for eons. It is akin to a reversed rain.
Voyeurs
When they part the curtains
they find the moon still stalking
their window. It is not that phase
of a month, and yet it glows
in the middle of dark, green,
celestial freckles, the sensor light panels
that awakens a driveway although
nothing rolls in, no one appears
in the periphery. When they part the curtains
darkness turns and stares at them
and turns and sheds all its clothes,
and then its skin and bones,
and oozes down from the cornice.
I watch their square from mine, far
from theirs and near.
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Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor
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