Wishing Upon a Shooting Morning

The darkness does not represent

darkness.

I cannot expect more from a city pent

near the bazaar.

People, left to guard the merchandise,

gathers wools

lying on their handcarts, and the breeze

whispers

to some thick and thin, transparent and translucent

plastics.

Morning, almost Daniel Barenboim playing

Chopin,

sprawls in E-Flat Major, but the light

is not right

for an example of the morning. Nothing

equals nothing

or anything. The dogs stretch time,

and from the brambles

of my existence, a gust of the birds mushrooms

into the sky.

Kushal Poddar
Ilustration Nick Victor

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