Kushal Poddar

The Square House Is A Circle In Reality 

 

The square house circles us.

 

Nietzsche hangs up a painting 

 

titled 'Fearless' on some wall.

 

I see a different beast in it

 

every day. This time the painting 

 

portrays a jaguar and a lady sitting 

 

on a wooden table, defiants to

 

the tea decorum. It is a square-circle

 

house. I open a door to step outside 

 

and find me in a room with myself 

 

looking at me, and his eyes show surprise.

Dance 

 

I dance tribal, not 

 

the real one, the beats 

 

and steps a moviegoer 

 

desires to see

 

while kissing, spilling 

 

popcorna over the knees

 

of his companion.

 

I dance with my sleep.

 

Dream sits on the aisle,

 

the sole spectator, came only

 

because the family won't trust me

 

with sleep in her best white 

 

and a scent that's stuck since 

 

my childhood. Dream will 

 

have the last dance with me,

 

a consolation for her, albeit 

 

it may overstay in my mind.

 

Jeet Kune Do

 

I load the reel and play,

 

play and rewind my father's 

 

favourite Bruce Lee movie.

 

A few drops of wine I have 

 

spilled on the floor in his name

 

evaporate. I stand naked

 

between the projector and the wall.

 

Not lust, not protest, nakedness 

 

should never need any reason.

 

My back wears a film of injustice,

 

fists raised against it, unreal colour,

 

and my back wears the melancholic echo 

 

of the mock Jeet Kune Do I perform alone,

 

not that mellow sadness master the art of reasons.