29th April 2022
The coffee, born cold, takes its sweet time. I wait, my eyes - half and half. My patience moonwalks through the shrapnel of wee hours' dreams. The invasion of reality assesses the assets intact and the assets lost. You say out of context, "After a certain age men need only one candle on top of their cakes." I am more concerned about the line of control. A wish-breath remains loaded in my lungs' silo. The Noir Heart "Examine your desire." The priest says. They become two last leaves on the dying tree, and the moon and its siamese shadow on the rain water. Tim speaks first on behalf of his desire, his heart, "To kill the husband of my liver." An owl slashes through. The priest nods, "Now that you have said so, he is dead and reborn in his next breath." Wolfpack Contributor: Kushal Poddar Poetry from Kushal Poddar : The Little Voyeur Incident, War & Peace 2 new poems by Kushal Poddar : Drinking with a Priest & Rabbit, Dance
Fevers of the Mind 