Spring Sprawls Across the Fence of the Reality The river and the wind bring Spring in your house; the leaves and the gravel announce a stranger; your curtains rise and fall; one cuckoo blurs the boundary of singularity; you turn in your bed; on your South side lies your lover whom you have gybed towards sleep; all of his flesh and his mind at its puerility's height hold the railing of a ship leaving the port of reality. Those leaves talk with the stranger. So much exist outside one's perception, love outside your windows, patience across the fence of waiting. You stream on the bed, reflections of the stars on your chest. You breathe, and it rains in the city. Have You Seen That Patch of Green The wind within bleeds on the blades of my dreams. This is the patch of the wild blooms I carry, held between the house I desire and the one I own. Today summer liquifies the red. The prayers sway. An arrow of the birds free in the cage of my mind's geosphere flies. Waiting The clock unwinds silence; in the embrace of our pillows we sleep off twelve gongs; snow swirls to settle on our tropical forty degree Celsius land; a singular apparition holds its crow mien and fettle. The mango tree writhes underneath its unaccustomed white sheath. Patience waits outside, leaves its footprints on the snow although in the morning we see nothing except some wet roads, cars, greenery and feathers, nothing that can make us believe in the myths. The String Why the road and the pavements look wet? Rain remains absent in this plain for awhile. Do we sweat this much? Oh so wet! The kite whisperer friend lets it be a white stingray in the almost-white blue. "Report back; bring back the messages of the clouds." The news from the sky sounds fake; we misread it. "If you misinterpret something fake," hope says, "what you perceive might be true." The boys reels and pulls the string. Sometimes the thin line cuts the skin. The asphalt glistens. Do we bleed that much?
Kushal Poddar, the author of ‘Postmarked Quarantine’ has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of ‘Words Surfacing’. His works have been translated into twelve languages.