Nothing Political About This
While we cross the jungle moon rises-
our country’s election over,
the paths all swept for the mines.
Our car screeches to a sudden motionlessness.
in a limbo, time and space both shaping into
twin headlights’ lit cones.
Someone or some gang has laid
some enormous logs on the road
to block the veins and choke the hearts.
A rabbit leaps from existence
to nothingness. Our driver lights a joint.
We wait and wait. Nothing happens
as if we are a mistake; we are insignificant;
we are cursed to survive
while the violence licks the village past this darkness.
Chattel and other poems are © Kushal Poddar