On The Father’s Day

The conversation with my dad
builds a monolith of laments.
Somehow he has learnt to sing
since his death and sings the song
I have in my head.

Oh, hush. I hiss. His voice breaks into
white noise and crickets. My mind is
a porch and an evening bush.
Here the dog, not ours, buried some bones.
My father makes an instrument using those.

Does the tune attune to an age of easy belief?





Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor



Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India

 Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/ 
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe

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