Hiraeth Series Poems 31-33 from Kushal Poddar

Hiraeth Series poems 31-33

31

The neighbor’s tree encroaches
the air space,
taps my shoulder tired bearing
the weight of my slumber.

This day will not be known as
‘The day our neighbor’s tree woke me up’.

I struggle to descend downstairs.
No sound greets me. It seems
either no one else lives here
or all has left for a celebration
I’ve forgotten.

This day will not be known as
‘The day our house emptied its belly’.

If I try not hard enough
this day will roll on and be
‘Any other day’.

32

Nothing noted today, for two days in a row I have nothing to report. I stare out at scrawls on the bank of the pond nearby and imagine the ducklings,

and oh yes, I have not seen the local fishmonger shove some sacks of Cocaine down the throats of the bloated belly fish .

33

“My son died from sea-sickness.”
What are you saying?
I shake my head in silence.
“Oh yes.” You say.
“A brain cells eating amoeba.”

I witness the absence
ravage the presence.
The misplaced memories topple
the shelves full of souvenirs
from one seaside far away.

A kite shrieks in a seagull voice.
The sky reverberates.

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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