A Tale of No City, by Kushal Poddar

I am not a silent poet

You began feeding them,
thrice a day at first,
and they had their wilderness,
tiny nails, teeth more or less. 

Once a day then. Boredom
caught the morning sun.
The flooded streets laid eggs of dry patch.
Sam’s mom complained
about the animals living in your yard.

You began fading,
and they did not comprehend
the magic that spells waning away.
As if to be God one must
appear to disappear, build
someone’s fortune and draw a circle of fate. 

They begged, meowed,
crawled and leapt inside your house.
You shooed them, told them
not to make love or even if they did
not to birth rights. 

And one day you found kittens,
eyes still unopened,
under your bed, your old shirt
forging their camp.
They cheered at you, wondered 

why you would not wave happy hands,
after all you gave them once,
but because you…

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