Hiraeth Series Poem #36
36 On Mondays the collector wakes up one-day-only-paranoic to all he has gathered so far - each matchbox, brass button, fountain pen, old map and jazz vinyl. He grabs his eyes and stare outside. Downstairs I live in rent - someone who collects open spaces fitting for the hearts missing. I would have stooped to pick those up, but the process of it feels like pulling out the magnets from an iron door The little plops make me shiver - those noises of hiraeth. I hear the bloodshed in the collector's screams - "Nevermore nevermore." I should shout that he is not the only one. Look through my open spaces. Everything is on fire like some ants underneath a child's magnifier. Wolfpack Contributor: Kushal Poddar Hiraeth Series Poems by Kushal Poddar 34 & 35 Hiraeth Series Poems 31-33 from Kushal Poddar Hiraeth Series Poems 28-30 from Kushal Poddar Hiraeth Series poems 26,27 from Kushal Poddar
Fevers of the Mind 
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