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| Dương Nhân |
Dilapidated
A sheet of tin guards the edentulous
set of front-facing windows. Wind
still conveys the messages of winter.
The lady wears her anniversary
blouse that was bought on the spur
of the moment twenty-four years
ago. The same December her spouse
parted. She reads the cold texts
with all her bones. A couple
of wood pigeons fly in through their
secret ingress. Her palms, light as light,
hold the weight of their flight pattern
and the particles of memory
always here but only a ray can highlight.
Enjoy more posts by Kushal Poddar HERE.
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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 love the images in this poem, Kushal!
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