Heart of A Colour
I forgot the simple
heart of a colour.
Of course, forgetting
is a colour, and it
goes well with the night’s.
What else should I wear?
She asks, forgetting
she stands naked. Nothing,
I say, let’s keep it
One of his I’m dying, John! letters
spill from the box. Autumn. Leaves ferry
yellow to the hearts. Letters bear rain-marks.
The mellow eyes of one got old shove
the landscapes into the winter. I’m
dying, wind murmurs and yet races
in search of the tree it saw as a seed.
Too late. Too late. In the heart of yellow
yells a hollow voice. The filters of those
stolen cigarettes drown in sediments.
Born in a warm corner of India, a lone child and brought up with his shadow mates, Kushal Poddar (1977- ) began writing verses at the age of six. He adopted his second tongue as the language to dream on. Widely published in several countries, prestigious anthologies included Men In The Company of Women, Penn International MK etc and featured in various radio programs in Canada and USA and collaborated with photographers for an exhibition at Venice and with performers for several audio publications .
He is presently living at Kolkata and writing poetry, fictions and scripts for short films when not engaged in his day job as a counsel/ lawyer in the High Court At Calcutta. He authored, The Circus Came To My Island and his forthcoming books are “Kafka Dreamed Of Paprika” and “A Place For Your Ghost Animals”.