Through The Morning Diaphragm 

Little difference exists 
between an angel and a long bird, 
blurred at this hour, flying 
through the morning diaphragm 
that separates the thin light and 
below, wrinkled dark and above.
My mother begins praying 
for no one and nothing before 
the nihility and the hills and the dale
slowly emerging. Little difference.
We accept the first born of the chickens.
Their loitering in the yard busies the day.
The bus disappearing on the way 
to the sea takes me. I bid my mother 
goodbye but she hardly notices anything.

 

 

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Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor
 

 

 

Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe

 

 

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