Insults by Kushal Poddar

Rafael Minguel Delgado

Insults 

I didn't comprehend 

most of the slang, the bulk

of the insults. Soon lost

that safe bay, harbor 

of innocence. A friend 

told me, "Now you know 

that place where the tongue

of our country ends

and its brain fumbles

for the leash of the reign.

I asked him, "Am I now

included? In your clan?"

"Do you feel insecure?"

He asked. I looked around. 

It was a dry ocean.

It was a reflection of a dark stone.

© 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.

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Fire Kept Some Memories by Kushal Poddar

Mikhail Nilov

Fire Kept Some Memories 

Fire kept the memories 

of some dances. 

Others in the smoke,

in the Brownian motion,

zigzag and ebb beyond. 

When it passes through 

the junkyard of hair on my head 

the whispering reminds me

what my mother used to say

about her meeting my father. 

The story was hardly interesting 

except that a war was in the background. 

© 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.

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Two Sides of a Glass by Kushal Poddar

Alexey Demidov

Two Sides of a Glass

The glass partition runs cold
on one side, and the sun and sweat
on the other. The pet shop cat
lifts its lucky paw at me and waves.
I have one more mile to dredge.

Right now my destination and
the person I'll meet are one.
One hawker of bubbles blows emptiness.
The cat almost waves at him, stops
and licks its paw. I have one more

sleep to stay awake through, walk past.
The blur runs the hum of the AC
on one side and the roadway racket
on the other. I sit on the shop's steps.
Right now one hand labours to push me up
and one presses down my knee.

© 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.

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A Skeletal Dream by Kushal Poddar

Ilya Kovalchuk

A Skeletal Dream 

Near dawn 

a skeletal dream

climbs down 

the movable stairs.

Its lantern sways

in the shivering air.

The hill holds its slow pace,

desire to keep it alive 

all day. You knock on my door,

say, "Come on!" 

None of us remembers

what is the hurry.

© 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.

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Dilapidated by Kushal Poddar

 

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. 

© 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.

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The Old Art of Handwriting by Kushal Poddar

 

Katya Wolf

The Old Art of Handwriting 

         To Mitarik 

The old art you practice neither 

in a lit-up room nor on a Burmese 

teak writing desk, as if 

you nurse the golden shyness 

on the rocks in a virgin glass heart, 

but sometimes, in the moonlight, 

in the cold of the river, on 

a rectangle of paper kept on the knees 

balanced between the front and the back seats 

of the very autorickshaw that passed 

your old neighbourhood on its way 

to the water. You try the old art 

and handwrite your name. 

Sometimes it brings back the endless 

number of letters, unsigned, grenaded 

through the windows of the Girls' School, 

and some nights it sniffs out 

the scent of your silhouette 

lost in the undergrowth. 

© 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.

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A Scorpion In The Zero's Garden by Kushal Poddar

Paul Groom Photography Bristol

A Scorpion In The Zero's Garden

I never thought about zero,

perhaps because I lived in it.

One Zen master once told me -

when you stop thinking about 

something you already have it.

You may not have it, 

but the longing has ebbed. 

The infinitesimal space left 

is near to the fullest, to the infinity.

I garden rocks. Today a scorpion 

flashes its anthracite exoskeleton 

in the zero's garden, not mine,

and I wouldn't have known even 

if I owned that plot. I tell my daughter,

"Now on, check your shoes before 

wearing." She makes it a religion.

In the zero's garden, there always 

is a scorpion until we find 

an almost zero in its possibility.

© 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.

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After Vivaldi by Kushal Poddar

 

Josue Velaquez 

After Vivaldi

The last note, born orphan, falls 

from the violin and loses its way

in the thick red carpet. It knows

the value of mutism soon. 

'The Four Seasons' has ended.

The violinist, still in trance, breathes hard

and stares at us, but we're nothing 

more than a broad stroke speckled 

with shades and values of the dark.

Almost near dawn she finds herself alone

in her pittance of a balcony veiled in smog.

Sky, black, claps. Too late, there won't be 

time for an encore. Sky claps. Rain follows. 

She bows, and then remembers that note 

left in the dim auditorium. It doesn't know 

what to do in front of the emptiness.

© 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.

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Saint by Kushal Poddar

 

Merlin Lightpainting

Saint

I have a vision of a saint.

He lowers his lips

to the dark and murky rivulet 

and lifts the faint pink

of a fish. The night inks the scene.

You release a mouthful of smoke.

I hate it, albeit the milieu is still serene.

© 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.

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Ensue by Kushal Poddar

 

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.

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