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Poetry: Neighborhood

The image of you being warned

and shot by two cops sinks and

drowns in my brain; sometimes

your ghost baby eyes open,

question me - "When shall I grow up?"

Never in this neighborhood, I windowshop

real estates, and none is anymore real than those holes

in your chest as if you illustrate what hiraeth means.

You metamorphose into the word of the day.

Words power our society, and yet I work on

the kin in silence. No. No. No. I hallucinate you,

and a place where safe hangs

from the skeleton of a billboard, and the hole

where a Welcome scripture should fit

looks like an entry wound.

An author and a father, Kushal Poddar, edited a magazine - ‘Words Surfacing’, authored seven volumes including ‘The Circus Came To My Island’, 'A Place For Your Ghost Animals', 'Eternity Restoration Project- Selected and New Poems' and 'Herding My Thoughts To The Slaughterhouse-A Prequel'. His works have been translated in ten languages.

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