Thursday, July 21, 2011


Shape Shifting 

The shadows carry the trees on their open palms.
I watch the corrugated sun.
It makes me now blind- now sighted.
The forms have a row with the shapes.
Imagine the ants carrying a picnic basket into their mound
drawing along the bed sheet, flasks,
paper plates, me, you and the universe.
Sun makes the trees disappear and reappear.
You ask me what angel I am into.
What do you mean?
I see now. Now I do not.
We return with open palm,
balanced sadness, a few wayward ants,
pieces of a distant universe.

The Radical Books In The Garden

Left two books everyday
hiding in the garden for Emily Dickinson.
This promoted me to heaven.
Mother said, You should choose a girl.
I stared at the rose garden.
One must choose a flower
and let it wither in a vase.
A homely heaven for a few books,
I had many worse bargains.
I told mother, One of my ribs created a flower.
A big blast took place when I spared the rib.
Today's radical books fashion tomorrow's heritage.
Emily picks them up. I hear her go.
An armada of clouds passes over the rose garden.
I watch my mother's vase collection grow.

About Kushal Poddar:
Kushal Poddar (1977- ) resides in the city of Kolkata , India. Aside from poetry, he has written fiction and scripts for t.v. mini-series. His English language poetry has been published both online and in print all over the world. He is the author of “All Our Fictional Dreams” and has been published in “Poor Poet’s Pantry: Collaborative Poems”. His forthcoming book is “Surviving Cyber Life”.

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