Our daughter emerged with a cry,
the confusion and the expression
every creator shares, and she had
crafted two people after all – one, her
mother, reclined on a platform of sweat,
dazed and proud, and the other
pacing outside at that moment
dialing the people who he thought
mattered most.
Her first cry fluttered, settled, flew
around seeking for the world
where the hospital’s white walls
and tiled floors could create no
delusion of control.
There used to be a pond
a minutes North to this building.
They muted it. Its ghost-ripples
shadowed her father’s profile.
He startled, moved away
from the glass wall and strode inside
to greet her mother.
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Kushal Poddar
Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
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