Hunger
My grandmother's how to cook hunger is safe in some government locker. She used to begin with kneading the air. Rest I cannot remember. The great great grand kitten of her last pet mewls hollowness in her withered kitchen garden. I open the window, take a spoonful, listen to the ting of the spoon hitting the base of the bowl. Calendar Somewhere, the last year still holds on to the hinges, and one drunken overcoat misses the hook on the wall, and its fall sounds soft - one last leaf leaving the calendar. The barren square inches of holographic past haunts near the midnight. Some clock slurs a tick and a tock. You already mislaid the new calendar. My call from the morning sphere hits a echoing blind alley. Wolfpack Contributor: Kushal Poddar Poetry Showcase from Kushal Poddar Poem by Kushal Poddar : The Smile Craft (for Merritt Waldon)
Fevers of the Mind 
1 comment