Peace Garden

She sips her tranquility,
first flush, Darjeeling,
and on the bedizened porcelain
lie some corpses of biscuits.

Her tepid tea still manages to
burn the lips.

The children run amok,
invade the garden,
magnify in the Sun upon
a colony of the ants.
The destruction cools them,
and their mother’s music device
streams, ‘Here Comes The Sun’.

“Have you ever been afraid that
you might die?” I ask her.
My voice dins a nano-noise,
an antsy sound, so here and so far.

The last bit of the biscuits
melts into the tea she will not drink.






Kushal Poddar


Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
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