Tea

Your teacup didn’t make this circle
although some faint mist exists in
the stilled air stream, and I bring out
Darjeeling from my memory
in our conversation. You wipe the table
as I mumble about my family
leaving the three years old me in the Jeep
for some tea. The handbrake wasn’t pulled;
nothing was neutral; the keychain
hanging from the dashboard shone with
God’s smile. The fall circled the road called
‘Wind’s Loop’, and suddenly all shouted

“See, Kanchenjunga! Kanchenjunga!”
I turned my head and found
one strawberry faced girl asleep
in the backseat. I told everyone about her.
No one saw. No one believed.

 

 

 

Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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