The Raven On The Dais

The day, yesterday, staged
for the Spring, squared with
a sudden rain. On the dais,
unsheathed, a book of poems
left in a hurry and forgotten
was guarded by a wet raven.
It showed no urge to fly
for some shelter. The colours
leaked from a hand-painted poster,
albeit one could read – ‘Ministry
of Culture’. The day turned to the rocks,
turned to the cement.
The remnants of the bygone
aesthetics remained one with the gray;
the words read, yesterday’s and
tomorrow’s too, were unread.

Kushal Poddar

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