The Art of Leaving

Yes, some of us will never leave
the lane, smell of urine, bound
by bricks with smeared bloody handprints.
We will run behind your vehicle
leaving the place, watch it go holding
the last lamppost, and if we meet again
you have run a circle, you belong
to the ones who fail to don
the art of leaving. We shall nod, two
circles that should not have formed
the Venn Diagram. My child will
tug my hand, and you will become
another poster of a missing person
torn away by happenstance.

Hold Your Breath To See If You Are Alive

The late descent of the drop of rain
startles the beetle. One whole day
has dried away, and still leaf has been
holding the last spell. Sometimes you
hold your breath as long as you can.
For no reason. When you exhale no gale
stirs up the yard. The junked out coaches
shiver as if a new fixture is scheduled for them.

The Dilemma After The Game Night

Last night your team lost
to your team,
and you cannot celebrate
because it is unsafe.

Your new country now smells
of stale beers, and its streets
paved with plastic thin aluminium
reflect the sudden sun, and
wring out a groan.

Your old country echoes stale cheers,
and breakfast conversation
keeps the alive. People discuss
which players will leave
and join the country where you pretend
to mourn.

Golden Prohibition

My hand on your thigh
and yours on mine
draw a sign we have seen
on every prohibition.

No parking here. I know.
No swimming. No loud noise.
No littering.

Perhaps ours end a long fight.
Perhaps open a tired conversation
that will birth shattered mirrors.
Tonight, oh tonight, they’re ‘No War’.
We hold each other ‘s thumbs
and let the rest of our fingers wing
into deep azure.

Kushal Poddar is the author of ‘Postmarked Quarantine’ and ‘How To Burn Memories Using a Pocket Torch’ has nine books to his credit. He is a journalist, father of a four-year-old, illustrator, and an editor. His works have been translated into twelve languages and published across the globe.

You can find more of Kushal’s work here on Ink Pantry.