A Small Man

by Kushal Poddar

Depends on how small

you feel you are he is small.

He takes the space

between the ochre curtains and

the yellow lamp,

stays mute while you talk

about the statecraft and freedom songs.

Tonight moon shines

through the smoke and the clouds,

buildings and trees.

You leave early to drink

the glowing white

without noticing him in his corner.

The room darkens. The curtains

light up and passes

the light to the opaque walls.

Your cars leave the premises.

Now he ceases to be flesh,

rather a wisp of a thought,

a word that should have ended

the discussion.