The wall thickens with green outside,
and inside, dark velvet. The blind palm, my uncle’s
left one, seeks a path, the middle ground amidst
everything. The sound of prayers and worship
would have told him what the time is, albeit
the war with time is lost. The temple bares
a bundle of bricks to any wayward tourist.
My uncle allows me to help him with the progression
once he moves too near to the black hole.
Today I extend my guidance early. Today rain
crafts this house. Shadows play
with reality.
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Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor
Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
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