Progeny
before dinner
We are born
when
the sun and coal mate
beside the trench
smelling
of sweat and scars, and
v a c u u m
—where one awaits
the heat to resign
and
save
the infants.
only silence
can make you realise the counter-
effect.
exercising
unwanted control,
the dilemma
hangs
as you make the choice.
~
sudden monologues
in an empty house- distraught,
with no justification,
your speech reminds of something
fucked-up and still breathing.
but isn’t everything like that?
~
she calls; says-
‘I know what you did there.’
—veracity
stinks like vomit
when no one understands.
~
incessant explanations
exposing helplessness;
— she hangs up,
and
fearing solitude,
you call friends over
for dinner.
Mihir Vatsa grew up in the plateau-town of Hazaribagh before moving to New Delhi for higher studies. His poems have previously appeared in, or are forthcoming from, Eclectica Magazine, The Four Quarters Magazine, Boston Literary Magazine, Curio Poetry, and Circa Review, among others. He loves Pink Floyd.
