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Best Poems Written by Kushal Poddar

Below are the all-time best Kushal Poddar poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Let Love Fly

Let love fly
-
With ethereal compassion, a soft glow in her eyes,
she picks up the baby eagle, tries to convey words
of eloquent reassurance, sincerely she tries.

Look, June is here this morning; and sun is shining hot; 
last night’s storm belongs to last night; it has left an eagle;
a homeless, hurt, upset baby; it feels forlorn, lost, caught.

She takes it home; makes enclosures; feeds it with love, care.
It still feels solo, alone within, fed by love, fed up.
The enclosure of good concern grows smaller with time’s each turn.
The bird’s soul belongs to the sky; in its eyes silent prayer 
flares up as it cries; shrill piercing call to its own kind.

Let it fly.
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar

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The Saga of the Dusty Road

The Saga of dusty roads of Utah 
(To the memory of Don W. Esplin, father of Kathryn Esplin-Oleski)
= =
There he was playing with some mild explosives, 
in his own backyard, a resolute boy he is; 
the June month had swelled like the taut belly of 
a neighborhood lady; the boy wanted to be 
a scientist which he became. He, of course could not 
envision that all these sepia dust of Utah, 
the noon backyard and a young scientist’s narrative 
would be remembered by his explosive daughter 
and a strange Indian was going to pen a saga. 

Alfred Nobel was smiling from a page of a book 

The boy rolled a cigarette, the smoke’s curlicues 
swirl up to grain the picture. A blast almost choked
the bright blue jays and robins. Defused sun slanted.
The end of the road was just an end of the road 
where sun could meet earth, warm grass shook off the heat 
and the covert window of the farm house would yield 
a father and son talk. Strong argument on
future, on an university, on money 
on a world that could differ in generations;
of course the boy, as a father, understood 
his girl, then living apart. But distance is in heart.
He would grow up midst dreams. A quirky wind would blow him 
here and there; navy, marriage and science, 
pharmacology and marriage again; a gust
of wind would take him on a ride that, if he could 
read this he would have said, resembled his truck rides 
down the roads of Utah. But at that point of time
he was wide awake inside his misty night’s sleep 
and an American novel is shooting up 
its multiple heads in search of fresh oxygen. 
The waves of moon were enjoying a full tide.

=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar

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Forlorn Alien, Invader

Alien, invader
----------------------
The green shadow sits on my terrace of slanting night, 
a night, which has escaped the tortuous alleys of unalleviating city. 

The shadowy invader, the alien, the lonesome foreign body 
watches the clusters of bright sparkles and trails, 
in oiled rhythm, of mechanical creatures. 
It comes to its mind 
whether 
human are like their machines too.  

A soft wind rises from Ganges; 
a blind bat becomes alert of the alien presence; 
the fire on the dumping ground hisses.

It is different landscape.
Theirs is more barren.
Still, the alien likes its planet 
and to the creature we are also aliens.

The green shadow sits on my terrace, every slanting night, 
seeing us with a soft distance, seeking dispassionate resemblance, 
not quite understanding, through the glass of a reverse telescope.
~© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar.

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Black Rain Is Gonna Fall: a Triolet

Black rain is gonna fall: Triolet
----
The clouds are gathering to again 
over the far-flung island of dark, black mud. 
The wound of last lashing is still raising pain. 
Shhh… clouds are gathering to pound again.
Meandering the village, flows the river stain 
with the bodies of men, beings; swept huts.
Now, clouds are gathering to again 
over the flooded earth, broken and suffered. 
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar

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Web Wise

Web wise

The fear drops from its light brown wings; 
this is not home; at least not for a bird. 
Little sparrow flaps its wings in madness; 
flaps them so hard. Living room, staircase,
it is humming past your mute chair.
But how can you help, you cannot locate 
your own way out of this golden web. 

=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar

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Days and Nights and the Universe

Days and nights and the universe 
I
The musty monsoon 
insects with swelled bellies
soggy paper boats.
II
Curiosity 
a black feathered bird peeps in,
there is no return.
III
Close the eyes, its night.
A bat has taken a bite; 
the fruit rolls away. 
IV
The desolate rails.
Millions of butterflies, 
they reign the wild shrubs.
V
Crystallized water, 
this rock has witnessed years,
a fly has more eyes.

=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar

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To One Who Was Never Born

to one who was never born 


I cannot fit you amongst dead sisters; 
put you to sleep with humming lullaby.

I cannot, for you 
have never been born.

Mapping a womb sometimes reveals you, 
coiling, illusory and innocent.

Just any womb 
carrying a girl.

You seem iridescent midst mother’s warmth; 
it means nothing to you, if you may

never be born as
my little sister

whom I have not put to sleep with a song.


© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar

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Banal Secrets

Banal secrets…


Just another night.
He leaves 
a bagful of snacks, 
cans of emptiness
scattered on the lumpy couch, 
in front of the tube 
now broadcasting 
a series 
on those who are yet to return, 
the traceless ones
the lost ones. 
	
The verandah on which
he comes out at night
comes out amid night,
is touched by a sudden gust. 
The wind has passed rivers and mountains. 
It whispers the name of a sister, 
full blood sister of this middle aged man, 
who has kept her in heart
and in lungs, there is those nicotine sponged.

The waft calls his lost sister 
Traceless, fade away. 
He face the brazen night. Dark.

A clueless dog is barking. Is there an entity?
May be just a shadow from the life 
he has buried in the town they used to live; 
a town which has consumed
a girl returning from school; a town which has always
known this man’s, this brother’s folly. 

But 
he has only pushed her teasingly; a mere play; 
the canal, the greedy canal, which has sucked a girl
sure is the one to be blamed for.
Still 
he harks the screams in his suppressed dreams. 


=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar

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Wake Up, Morning

Wake up, morning
-
Waking up, from the cold water;
walking over it; a spider,
is moving with lame laziness
towards its unaware breakfast.

Heat generated first clouds, 
the newborns, yelping, careening
intoxicated by youth,
are scattered here and there.

The boy discovers a treasure, 
his father’s cassette collection.
Old tape-recorder whines and squeaks.
Armstrong sings, “it’s a beautiful world…” 

© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar

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Love At the Time of War

.Love
Love, in the time war
has not spared
a single deserted heart.

While bleeding to death
still love escapes
to some moonland
nonexistent.

politics of love
knows theories, so strange.
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar