—Poetry by Kushal Poddar, Kolkata,
W. Bengal, India
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
SONNET TO THE WHITE
One, two, three leaves sink in the sun.
The bituminous pitch turns liquid.
The path undone runs towards the school;
I hear the Miss Teacher translating
English to Northern East, to the city
seeking a leeway in the narrow shadow
beneath the parking cars and licks
its rear before stretching and curling up.
Quite feverish, I feel time peddle heat
through the veins, hear the children
croon in the manner they are tutored.
"This is the summer of everything,”
I remember you used to say in the end.
I hold onto my shivering blurred to bleach.
One, two, three leaves sink in the sun.
The bituminous pitch turns liquid.
The path undone runs towards the school;
I hear the Miss Teacher translating
English to Northern East, to the city
seeking a leeway in the narrow shadow
beneath the parking cars and licks
its rear before stretching and curling up.
Quite feverish, I feel time peddle heat
through the veins, hear the children
croon in the manner they are tutored.
"This is the summer of everything,”
I remember you used to say in the end.
I hold onto my shivering blurred to bleach.
HUES WE SEE NOT
We did not name these colours.
They exist between the shades.
When my uncle dons madness
he can scoop those in his fist
and cast on the face of this race of the names.
"We are not blind enough to see,”
he says. Whatever it may mean.
I have to drag him inside. Sometimes
people are so hostile!
And my skin feels the sheen and grain.
I see no granules of hues. I rub my hands
again and again.
We did not name these colours.
They exist between the shades.
When my uncle dons madness
he can scoop those in his fist
and cast on the face of this race of the names.
"We are not blind enough to see,”
he says. Whatever it may mean.
I have to drag him inside. Sometimes
people are so hostile!
And my skin feels the sheen and grain.
I see no granules of hues. I rub my hands
again and again.
PRONKSTILLEVEN
What you see on the table by the sea
where once a count dined with his eyes stoic.
foreseeing his imminent doom. doesn't call for
murmuring 'Hedonism' as if you lead
a Spartan life with one wooden trunk holding
all your earthly desires and possessions
as well as doubling as a table.
A few of your minuscule animal-pleasures stand
here
baffled with the freedom to devour a buffet of
words,
amidst those names we give to the things—
those gravity's fruits, opacity of the cheese,
promise of life in demise from the tenderloin,
or the translucence of the lobster.
The waiter whispers, "Here quality becomes
quantity.
Here every night divinity shares roes with sin,
and one tells the other that everything is transient,
alive between two zeroes”.
What do I know? I chew what will go
from one embodiment to another and rot,
and what will perish even before that.
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
THE FIRST FLY
—Kushal Poddar
The fly trots along the dry cement yard.
I can smell it, albeit where is the rot?
The first rain lives its previous life.
The river ferries
the soporific workers from this to that.
Blink, and I see the black dot buzzing;
blink, and I see nothing
except the bubbles born on the summertime eyelids.
_______________________
Welcome to the Kitchen on this, the 53th annual Earth Day; see https://www.earthday.org/.
Kitchen newcomer Kushal Poddar, the author of Postmarked Quarantine (https://icefloepress.net/postmarked-quarantine-a-book-of-poems-by-kushal-poddar/), has eight books to his credit, and his works have been translated into twelve languages. Kushal is also a journalist, father, and the editor of Words Surfacing (https://wordssurfacing.wordpress.com/2021/06/02/two-poems/). Contact him at Twitter: https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe/. Welcome to the Kitchen, Kushal, and don’t be a stranger!
Today is a very busy day in NorCal poetry, with readings in Modesto, Nevada City, and Sacramento. Click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
________________________
—Medusa
What you see on the table by the sea
where once a count dined with his eyes stoic.
foreseeing his imminent doom. doesn't call for
murmuring 'Hedonism' as if you lead
a Spartan life with one wooden trunk holding
all your earthly desires and possessions
as well as doubling as a table.
A few of your minuscule animal-pleasures stand
here
baffled with the freedom to devour a buffet of
words,
amidst those names we give to the things—
those gravity's fruits, opacity of the cheese,
promise of life in demise from the tenderloin,
or the translucence of the lobster.
The waiter whispers, "Here quality becomes
quantity.
Here every night divinity shares roes with sin,
and one tells the other that everything is transient,
alive between two zeroes”.
What do I know? I chew what will go
from one embodiment to another and rot,
and what will perish even before that.
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
THE FIRST FLY
—Kushal Poddar
The fly trots along the dry cement yard.
I can smell it, albeit where is the rot?
The first rain lives its previous life.
The river ferries
the soporific workers from this to that.
Blink, and I see the black dot buzzing;
blink, and I see nothing
except the bubbles born on the summertime eyelids.
_______________________
Welcome to the Kitchen on this, the 53th annual Earth Day; see https://www.earthday.org/.
Kitchen newcomer Kushal Poddar, the author of Postmarked Quarantine (https://icefloepress.net/postmarked-quarantine-a-book-of-poems-by-kushal-poddar/), has eight books to his credit, and his works have been translated into twelve languages. Kushal is also a journalist, father, and the editor of Words Surfacing (https://wordssurfacing.wordpress.com/2021/06/02/two-poems/). Contact him at Twitter: https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe/. Welcome to the Kitchen, Kushal, and don’t be a stranger!
Today is a very busy day in NorCal poetry, with readings in Modesto, Nevada City, and Sacramento. Click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
________________________
—Medusa
For more about National Poetry Month,
including ways to celebrate, see
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month.
And sign up for Poem-a-Day at
https://poets.org/poem-a-day/, plus
read about Poem in Your Pocket Day
(this year, April 27) at
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month/poem-your-pocket-day/.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
including ways to celebrate, see
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month.
And sign up for Poem-a-Day at
https://poets.org/poem-a-day/, plus
read about Poem in Your Pocket Day
(this year, April 27) at
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month/poem-your-pocket-day/.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
