Not a metaphor, the town ensepulchers fire.
A coal really, the roundness rolls out a rattling sound
as they lower the coffin. The twister hits a little later,
rips away the ribs of Tim’s barn. The chimera turns
in tiny funnels. I try to recall why we should entomb
a coal – still enkindled, still in its solid form.
In the subterrane we sip rotted wine, talk about
the life and time of the fire. The best of it. The worst.
Someone wants a smoke. No indulgence spoils him.
No remedy as well. The gale ignites something, not fire,
I am sure. The town buries the fire. My mother shakes her head,
“You never know what can bring something back.”;
a rod of lightning strikes.
Poet and a father, Kushal Poddar, edited a magazine - ‘Words Surfacing’, authored seven volumes of poetry 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'.