WIND
HAD A SONG IN IT
-
Kushal
Poddar (India)
The star opens a door in the sky
and leaves. The door dissolves.
The last train whistles a ditty
the lical assassin sings before his acts,
a song he learnt from his mother.
The green on the platform seven, not
a sudden fig sapling, a mere spot of some
spilled paint, waits for the rain we feel
whenever some door in the firmament
opens. The dry spell continues tonight.
Tonight I sleep on a concrete bench and
ask the platform to keep us afloat, anchored.
****