The room, yard, even the car
that my wife murmurs about,
‘A junk’, form one black feline.
We forget about the mortality
of our pets, the way leaves cover
a path, or the loved ones leave
some deep scratches of grief
on the surface underneath the surface.
We imagine that the black cat
has always been here and remain
here long after we fade, and voices
hush themselves. Tonight the house,
yard and the junk called a car become
perishable, autumnal, concrete, metal,
rubber and plastic. The moon is
the subject of a prolonged eclipse.
A Break From The Sleep
A metallic noise shatters the sleep.
I have begun it early and now
I hear the compline of the trees.
The origin of the noise remains
veiled. From the bowl of the hazy moon
crickets’ chirping bursts into a flight.
I graduate in awakening, a cup of tea –
a still life in my hands.
The sky displays its seasonal assortment,
and yet it rains. The droplets bite
the glass and crawl downward.
All are awake – zero, one, lights, clouds.
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Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor
Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
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