Ensue by Kushal Poddar
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| Image | Nikola Kojevic |
Ensue
I
On the highway of the wind
an avalanche of halcyon void
stalls the traffic of the leaves.
They wait for the news from the sea,
hundreds of miles far. They wait
for sky to begin an operation.
The clouds hold back the cold.
The trees shadow the valley's hem.
A monk chimes the bells of a monastery.
The ripples reverberate in the dark.
The lights can be seen from the summit.
One of the leaves turns, "Did you read
the leaflet? A new year began today."
II
One of the leaves turns, "Didn't
a year begin today?" Thus it institutes;
I jog midst the fog of a sweeper's
handwork. The sweeper gathers
all the beer bottles and cans he can.
The recycle man gives him enough for one.
One down, his evening becomes
one long call in loop. His girl adjusts
her clothes in the end, "When will
you return? The village has changed."
His silence whistles; the sea of the leaves
rustles; the ships of the buildings sail far.
© Kushal Poddar
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| Kushal Poddar |
Kushal Poddar has authored ten books, the latest being A White Can For The Blind Lane, and his works have been translated into twelve languages. He is a co-editor for Outlook Magazine and the editor of Words Surfacing. He does illustrations and sketches for various magazines.
I like the capture of moments of life, and the structure of your poem, Kushal!
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