The Troubling Lines of The Toilet

Some undefined lines shape
the walls and the door of my toilet.
Time shows its two poles these days.
The quivering lines, rebellious ones,
spill out of frames, tilt even
if my head and heart so conspire.

My safety razor falls into the basin
The pool of quasi solid white and
a red thin bloody swirl rises
for one moment and I steady myself
in the next. I stand stiff, a steep slope then.

I hear your concerns. I hear
your knocking. I listen to
the first cuckoo’s proclamation of Spring.
If I open the door, if I emerge naked
except a towel python around my neck
will you nest with me again in a world
free of worries and fire in its firmament?

Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor