Kolkata, W. Bengal, India
INSANE, SELF
Insane, if you call me
I'll agree, not because
of my soliloquies frequent
in front of a ghost audience
and not because provoked,
I turn violent,
because I repeat my old defeats.
I shall answer, desire to know
about your children and you will show
anger because you have blue
and gray at heart regarding that.
Look at me watching my dirty water
trembling twin. Look at that toenail
born and reborn yellow between
flesh and reflection.
A wind touches your head, glad
that madness is not airborne,
you say, "Stay well." I see you go.
I shall see you go again.
Insane, if you call me
I'll agree, not because
of my soliloquies frequent
in front of a ghost audience
and not because provoked,
I turn violent,
because I repeat my old defeats.
I shall answer, desire to know
about your children and you will show
anger because you have blue
and gray at heart regarding that.
Look at me watching my dirty water
trembling twin. Look at that toenail
born and reborn yellow between
flesh and reflection.
A wind touches your head, glad
that madness is not airborne,
you say, "Stay well." I see you go.
I shall see you go again.
BODY
He asks, "Did you enjoy?"
His eyes blade though her,
and she bleeds silence.
The pimp has nine toes,
a dance in his gait.
The girl has pox-bitten cheeks.
She makes a rat her pet.
The room comes with a porcelain set
no occupant ever used.
The tale of a cup of poisoned tea
shared with some client who
found a heart where legs meet
roams in the room like a vermin.
FOLLOW THE LIGHT
The examiner says, "Follow the light, please."
The man closes his, and a summer dress
flower garden replies to the wind by stirring.
It is left on a blackened wood chair.
Half of the house imagines its other half, gone half.
Half of everything works full-time. The wind burns.
The crepitation forms an 'O' around the sight
of another explosion nearby. He follows the light.
Which period of time is this? It matters little.
The halved room exists since someone discovered
how to light up a fire.
A GRAVE PROVOCATION
After a sudden friend's old death
we found it hard not to make love
every dusk, returning home mid-work
as if that could cure gunshots
and the memories not bled
because death didn't delay
pushing through the café door.
Death could have been late, kept
the bullet for a day in May or thereafter
and found our by then best friend
sad with his love for both of us.
He might not have any solution,
startled and relieved, desired to ask death,
"Why are you so late?" The café
would have the same white out.
REFLECTIONS
That year reflections, shadows
and shades grasped my heart.
I shivered seeing shapes and light,
not quite, the opposite of it and
what it co-creates with our flesh,
its interpretations of us.
This year following the halo of our
headlights on the pitch-black path
I wonder if heart died after a long
convulsion. We throttle the gas.
Even the glory they cast on the big screen
doesn't make me feel anything.
The red car, premium retro drive-in revival,
home videos of my mother back at home
or your kisses all swirl, scatter and fall
like grey flakes.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth.
—Jean Cocteau
____________________
—Medusa, welcoming Kushal Poddar back to the Kitchen. Kushal first visited us in December of 2022.
Kushal Poddar
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
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.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
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.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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!
