Bombers In The North Korean Sky by Kushal Poddar

I am not a silent poet

You rubbed off a name from my wall.
I strip a tissue from your brain.

Today rain mocks time’s movement.
Sleep mocks coma.

Here I scratch a street.
There your Bible salesman seeks a door.

North of all music,
cold, my umbrella huddles with yours and listens

to a dying jazzman’s cigarette-hand.
You remove blue from my song.

I operate on the rest of the notes.
Sleep hiccups- good day,

and we dream- every soldier sings.
Every singer battles within.

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