A crying neonate remembers
not even one note of her nights –
whom she rocks out of sleep
and why she weeps.
Sleep rests on the quarantined
railway tracks, and goods train
hastes from nowhere.
Sorry, if these metaphors change tracks,
albeit when one weeps
tears don’t reveal their true skins.
A sad train wrecks the sleep.
If you cry for this, baby,
or triggered by something else
the silence that follows
doesn’t care, discriminate.
Illustration Nick Victor
Kushal has a new baby to inspire him…..
Authored ‘The Circus Came To My Island’, ‘A Place For Your Ghost Animals, Understanding The Neighborhood’, ‘Scratches Within’, ‘Kleptomaniac’s Book of Unoriginal Poems’, ‘Eternity Restoration Project- Selected and New Poems’ and now ‘Herding My Thoughts To The Slaughterhouse-A Prequel’ (Alien Buddha Press)