http://slow.writerscafe.org/Kushal The original writings of author poddar kushal en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775984128 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Let love flyWith ethereal compassion, a soft glow in her eyes,she picks up the baby eagle, tries to convey wordsof eloquent reassurance, sincerely she tries. Look, June is here this morning; and sun is shining hot; last night’s storm belongs to last night; it h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/421176/ Traveler“You’ve brought us luck.”But, alas a traveler can not linger.“It’s not proper to send offamid drops of tear.” Whining of wind travelsa street  less populated.He comes off the shelter.Quite a period has been the s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/388210/ The sound of the sea The wooden bridge comes alightinto a sea of black and white.Someone is coming. Softly.She mops her eyes. Straightens her stance.A pair of feet comes in rhythmic moves.She suddenly knows, without turning,the stranger is the one. The one. A w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/388208/ A poetry on a crippled boy confined in an attic and becoming the seeing eyes of a village. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/364162/ For ever autumn at the park Wind makes tunnel through the heap of leaves. They blast, scatter; explode in the sky, in slow motion fall on your hair, stay there until someone picks them from whimsical tresses and asks the reason of your being so late.  A slow recession is .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/361450/ The shining blue and whiteWhite enters inside,the psyche is being blurred,a tree’s chalky smile… Winter, I am here now,mist roams midst my mindshining blue is worn by sky. The eyes follow truthsreach a garden. Lost Eden. A white unicorn hops&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/361075/ Inspired by the word paint prompt. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/343691/  GratitudeThe quivering fingers let the cigarette go. Downwards, the fire faced stick of death is falling before earth consumes its evil. He could have been flying too. The erosions of time, concern and space might be rushing behind his ears, his existence, his life. He could.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/341149/  Tropic of cancer(To John Beck who could have written this better)The burning carbuncles cruelly smiles. They have the faces of assassins, broad, witty, sharp, projected and barren. Ashen is he. The bed is growing large and large and blue with  the venom it sees. It is burn.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/340268/  streets of a new city The crimson lights begin to flash,the streets of a city with their million lives are being bathed with eternal lusts. Through the catacombs of days and nights a traveler of time is seeking a pound of solace to envelope his wound of tiredness. &n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/339849/  The flight of the phoenixPart 4, tiger of the jungleThe drop of blood is sucked by the dirt. The arid earth screams in delight. Transfixed we are visitors, in this world of simple lives. Live without dream. For food. The tiger turns its majestic head, in its eyes indifferen.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/336900/ My travel writing http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/336446/  The flight of the phoenix(the part-2, characters)The sky in a trance meets the earth in this hour of waking up. She wakes up to gather water,  to bathe before too many eyes lick honey at the public tap. The tap for water opens its soul.It springs to life and soused is he.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/336189/ While traveling I disguised myself as a resident of the places I traveled. It had been hard for I had the marks of being a Bengali all over, so adopted a story of someone trying his luck at their provinces for job and a place to stay. It brought out results quite different. Those parts are safe and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/335820/ Mist and mystery are two items life is build upon http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/330898/  Neighborhood Bent tail quivers. A soft sound, almost negligent follows you home.Turn head. See it. Is the blond dog, a pariah, saying something? Begging? Warning?You have seen it, days in and days out, yet the dog has been an unseen essay of God in your neighborhood. Eyes go .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/330075/  Carvings on an ancient caveA feather is amid a spinning fall.Sky wears blue kimono for the occasion.She touches the carvingshe had madethree thousand years ago,for her.A piece of sudden cloudover the ancient hillpours a rainthat has not changedin all these years.Her t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/328483/ " Actually about a headstone I was visiting after a long gap. I tried to see through the eyes of a woman visiting it." http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/328482/  Periwinkle blueSunset blue, periwinkle blue.Distance is a blurred idea.Windows of the car project the fast eroding remnants of this city, the soft woods by the road. Five is number of friends I have made this time and that’s all.Five torn cords are still dangling.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/327765/  To Harris Three minutes to five. The clock ticks.It can not smile. Though human does.The grand daughter prepares for him.The selection of perfume, dressand things one chooses at these timesmake her remember. Her days. Weekends.Harris. Boats. Breaks. Ha! The curse offirst ill .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/326679/  Kitty party of disturbed mind Disturbed minds in a kitty party, talk of pink happiness with the covert tongues. A kitchen garden with a crow and its curious peaks is growing tired buds. Pale sun lies on the lean porch. Smells of scones and tea and gutters inside purposeless tal.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/325476/  SupernaturalBrain.It fails to recognize the thing, the phenomenon.Brain can not decode its identification.It is not like any other thing, the trivial, the mundane…the life spreads throughcalendars…Sobrain pretendsthere is nothingand that pretensionco.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/323515/ Waiting: a taleRain is a stranger here.A few drops, desultory and lost fall to be soaked by arid earth. Mottles of dustrise. A mirage of a wingedangel sitting on the railsquiver. Forsaken rails tono station. That means they are mobile forever. They change existences, characters, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/322678/  AshThe face of fall is ash.Feverish leaves saunter here and there, to and fro. Like a bright cobweb caught in sun, a few lovers twinkle on lonely benches. Apart from these colors the face of fall is ash.The coiled desires are static in their own unfulfillment. Sl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/319169/  Then he was within ( to Kimberly and Bhawana and Janet)The house used to quiver whenever a train passed it. The red eyed lantern became green alike her face. “Don’t bite your lips. Don’t bite the lips.”She was not seeing the face of the silhouette woma.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/318432/ A day from innocence http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/317538/ This is a natural phenomenon observed by my friend and scientist Arleen http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/317014/ " to them who knew sadness is in their blood" http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/316645/ Boatman, How far?Like a distant dream, the boat alight withits dim lamps quivering by the winds of mid river, is threading a golden hem by the bank. “How far?”“How far will you go, boatman?” His thin soundsnever return. He thinks of the glitters of the silver sc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/316597/  Dateline: 9/11I loved to watch birds. [Flying kingdom of it shines on a cloudless sky.] I loved airplane all the same.  The long office hours, dull drones used to make my sleepy eyes shifting through a sky, searching for an opening to fly with the birds… &nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/315825/ A time to buildHe looks at it, the residue, the left over.He has to try. It is nature. The way he can fly, the way he knows it is the season to find love, he has to try. Try to build. His little nest. The female one is too withdrawn. Still her eyes are transfixed on the broken she.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/315824/ a poem against domestic violence http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/306324/      Mystic Forest _1A smell that we cannot sense in our city orb creeps in, green flag of it flies, wins over our heart.  “what will be available for dinner this night?”“Wild chickens if you wish.” Smiles through .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/296002/ Journey (times)“How far?”  She asks, eternally without answers.Eyes, weary eyes look yonder,A path lies ahead, tortuous as ever, Lost amid lights and darks.A valley of verdant flaunts its assets And a down to earth sun…How far, how far and how far…Echoi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/287795/ Inanimately togetherIt has an inanimate friendship with the old walking stick. The friend, the dark brown stick is always there. After a death in the family there is nobody to pick it up and with its thin supportto take a walk. The stick did havememorized the moment of the departure,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/287792/ Euro 2008: an unofficial poem No slipup is now allowed. He utters them, the words; as her hand slips into his. The knockout level is a sphere wherethe atmospheric pressure reaches high.With a sigh he mumbles the solemn words of  the National anthem. Why has he forgotten one.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/282572/  Café at night They wait for the stars.The stars bring them here.Their constellationgathers at the placeand the night expires. She cannot be alone in this café.Yet, she is never with anyone. No,the persons she comes with and those with whomshe leaves, to.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/280981/  on this rainy morningA glassful of mist.This morning night is with me, coming to the work.--------------------------------on an afternoonChirping in a mango trove,lazy afternoon                 &nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/278845/  A snippet on an afternoonChirping in a mango trove,lazy afternoon is in an exploit to pass time. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/278383/ To the quake victimsThe tail of the red toy truck can be seen.If there is any pair of innocent hands to play with the toy, there is no mind.Or body.He holds her quite and tightly. The debris lies before them where a little body is still confined. May be, still alive. Oh!He knows now,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/277386/  The four musicians in a field(to Alison and the band) A note has touched the cloud, just now.A bird has stopped over thinking it may find another of its kind. Silvers of the sweat drops on the musician’s forehead glisten.The open field of a spring fare is being f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/272711/ This is the result of some dream rising inside after a quarrel with a friend who has importance enough to cause bleeding. At night I dream of a fight and that I am left bleeding at a desert. I woke up and realize I shall wait for more of our friendship. Then in a letter of my dear friend Alison I go.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/272710/      Stalker A hand reaches me everywhere.However more elusive, I become.The shadow of its voice roams on,Doubts it generates, watch with feline eyes.Ignore it but it remains thereIn the isolated beach called “mind”.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/269411/  X-marked spotThe yellow tape, taut and rigid, cordons the place.Hush has a sound of it and is colored in gray.Crows and curious men flocking to peep inFace the dark smell of bereavement and stall.The wind doesn’t dare to seek permission,It is strolling and turning on the fo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/268926/  Words of a seaWords of a sea spoken in close whispersIt is an avid proponent of sky.I wish I could lift my face to sky, blue.Instead I decide to watch the death-pain of a jelly fish spread and scattered on sand.The playful pebbles stare at my wet foot, they soon will be known t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/268411/ I like it blendedThe sweat and the market.Life on the village is stirring.The beggar and the thiefHalf heartedly handing overTheir loots to the leader.The vendor ventures to buy aGarment for a little girl.This village’s idiot looks farA dawn of blood faced cloudsMoving in, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/265974/ The abused (the dust and the future)The upturned walls of his mind throbs.Each flash cuts and pastes scene from past.Small palms grasp bed sheet, new and crisp.Eyes water too much to see theNew paint they have cared to put onAnd the jovial four walls smile.The new home and new bed he f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/265093/ Aftermath of an accident The subsided men, how was it to beThat close to death? The snub of light through it, The bitter dark water’s fatal embrace Tightening right to the end. Sheer wastage.The salt that eyes let mingle with the creek.How the desperate cries of you, ch.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/262978/  Those waiting eyesThe wait of rain has been soaked in meadows.The warmth of a fragile hand is still onThe support of the porch. A pair of eyes,Tired and looking beyond, now is not there.These paths have not always let men reach theirChosen destination. The open sunIs making the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/259711/ Name gameIt was not his name really.He may have any other.Yet his presence, eloquent,Delightful and ever greenShimmers like an imp in space. It disappears but remains true.Like those scripts, futile withoutA mind to conjure them upIn a word of its reflection.His name remai.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Kushal/259709/