Good wishes

“There is little rest for the weary

but the comfort of friends soothes souls.” - Robert Burnham

Waking up from a bed of sweat,

waking up from a search

through stale dreams,

soon to be announced as tasteless;

soon to be discarded

into a black bag of wasted things.

As he brings the bag to the bin,

he wonders at the number of stuffs

he has already used. The swelling, bulging bag  

he is struggling to carry, contains a lifetime.

Still, there is an item he can recharge,

beside life itself;

a friend’s good wishes.

Good wishes grows again,

inside him,

he takes the gears to move again,

to a new space, a new earth,

a newness akin

to those, he has thought to be wasted.

He returns to the ports

he has already visited.

This time they are falling

into a habit of being born again.

© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar

City vortex

Sometimes I roam the city like an eddy of dust;

touching the loose streets, wobbly roads and shaky structures.

They seem unstable particles of still forming earth.

I touch the people who go through me; phantoms, ghosts.

Only their emotions leave a palpable trace

albeit following it can lead you to those blind lanes,

with one building at the end, trying to conceal pain.

“Do not cry.” The voice of some woman advises. 

>

Sometimes I move through the busy shops. Windows glowing.

The mannequins want to talk. But I have long been deaf.

© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar

Love

Love, in the time war

has not spared

a single deserted heart.

>

While bleeding to death

still love escapes

to some moonland

nonexistent.

>

politics of love

knows theories, so strange.

=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar