New poem “Kerouac” by Kushal Poddar


The jazz hand of the signal
mesmerizes the railway road.
Here desires to be There.
A blue becomes my face.
My tired car punctures the time.

A hiss bleeds out in the air.
I am tired everyday. I am the everyday.
The last roll of the toilet paper
holds the tale of my life, and 
the anecdotes of a pandemic sleep syndrome.

I call my friend died last month's first Sunday.
He whispers, "Hear the local train pass.
It plays the wind like God.
The music is God." 

Bio -
An author and a father, Kushal Poddar, works as a journalist. He authored eight books and has been translated into eleven languages across the globe.

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