MISMATCHED EVENTUALITIES - Poetry by Kushal Poddar

I cannot tell one thing 
from the other. Turban.
Beard. Hijab. Taqiyah.
Treetops. Falling buildings.

I cannot discern 
love for borders from 
hate for doors. ‘Go home!’,
scream my friends. ‘Go home’, 
I join, and some stones are thrown.

The birds returning, 
fall-kin gossips 
about winter.
It’s still unborn.
Yet we feel the chill.

At night blood changes 
insignia. Blue eyed 
cells turn black. I loved
a girl in veil- hid that 
from Robert. Buildings fall.

‘Timber!’ My father 
barked. We all but one ran. 
An insignificant 
memory. Not relevant. 

I cannot tell when guilt 
gives way to guilt, crime 
to crime, baseball bats 
to hockey sticks. 

I dream of the girl, hiss, 
‘This time I shall see 
your father with blind eyes 
scorching.’

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