I do not know about you
but we had this glass
menagerie of a bird perched
on a blue glass rod with red
liquid inside and a felt hat on its head.
We would set it near a goblet
and watch it drink, sway
north and south, and repeat the process.
I named it after my late-night uncle.
It was time. It was time-pass.
It recycled its motion until
both the drink and the drunkard
disappeared as if the drink
drank the drunkard who drained the drink.
I try to tell you something philosophical
after describing the bird,
and my brain composes nothing.
I add that my uncle became an obituary
in the newspaper he favored most.
The Bathtub
I dip my toes one by one.
The process, deliberate, cherishes
meeting a bathtub for the first time.
The homestay looks miniscule
around the porcelain. I drown myself.
I surface. On the floor infinite
water puddles. I immerse
my heard again. For one moment
I rain, locked in one drop of self,
my entirely. Now I See, through
my burning eyes, the blurry blue walls.
The home stay has sprawled meanwhile,
or perhaps I have shrunken the tub.
One dove shakes of light from its feather.
I should explore the city, but I sit in
my first porcelain tub.
.
Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor
- Find and follow me
- @amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
- Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/
- Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe
.