The Gorko Gazette

ThE Town’s Secrets

Her mother panicked
while cutting her nails.
She weathered the sting of water,
kindled fire with her fingers.
Peppery objects, tangy moments,
days were piquant.

The following weekend
her mother called her
for a haircut.
Summer rolled in the yard.
The windows were hazardous
for a few baffled birds.

She eloped with her
invisible friend, fiend.
The pond was bearable, green.

---

After Reading Stephen King

Dogs share no warmth with me.
I especially avoid our own alley
after seven in the evening.
The dog we nicknamed Kujo
rules the strays. Some nights
its maw slavers my sleep.

I read. I read verses and prose
loved by a niche, but this Monday
I hook up with Fairy Tale by King.
Tuesday sinks in the book. On
Wednesday while returning,
frightened, regretful, late from a soiree
a shadow, I feel, sniffs my trousers
rubs past fast without growling.
A moment I see the eyes,
in the next nothing. True tale, I whisper,
‘Will this end a lifelong dread?
Or is it because I forgot that I am dead?’

---

The Details Rain Manifests

Rain sniffs my hallux
oozed out through a hole
in the shoe. The nail
has grown unruly.
It surprises me
the details rain manifests
and the things it highlights.

A solitary dog shares
my shelter. It licks its balls.
Not every street has
two ways to go. This one
has one eye ruined by
the debris from a gale.
I tell the dog
that a third way always exists.
One has to close his eyes.

---

Those Invisible White Flowers Bloom Somewhere

The electronics shack
opens up ahead of the others.
The keeper grins and says,
‘You can smell the festival.’
‘Months to go.’ I remind him.
He shows me a half empty
glass on his desk.
I shrug. I am just a passerby.

That evening a wind rushes
a whiff down my consciousness
towards the glade of desire.
I sit on a bench. The crows
crowd the sky. Behind my eyelids
glimpses of a shop half filled with
the coils of decorative neon stars
light up every blink. I tell a stranger,
‘It is almost the festival.’
‘Months to go.’ He reminds.

---

ABOUT THE ARTIST: KUSHAL PODDAR

The author of ‘Postmarked Quarantine’ has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of ‘Words Surfacing’. His works have been translated into twelve languages, published across the globe. 

Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe

Image created on Stable Diffusion 2- 1

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