A mail from the vacation
Mom, here is sun in this country;
more than you can imagine...
more than the amount poured in
your whimsical green patch.
Is there a sweep of cloud
over your, sorry our house by this time...?
Are you angry on my saying "your whimsical green"?
Sorry for a simple slip; overwhelmed I am;
especially at this hour with pages of new vistas opening.
It must be the time just before the sunrise
at our place
and here it is day
in fact the heat is on.
Have you finished the posting?
Perhaps now you are off to work
and Pop too.
Work for pleasure and pain
like I may have to
till then....
Till then it is sun and friends
and a confused teacher in a tour
to touch history
where men have turned wrong;
where blood has dissolved into all absolving human kind.
Oh, before you ask; - the foods taste different
and the roads made of marmalade
news paper taxies...
Sorry we are on. Meet you soon
in our world where I will be just me.
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar


Comments: 54
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A very beautiful write, kushal.
Featured in the Triple Name Club.
Newspaper taxis await on the shore, waiting to take you away.
Get in the back with your head in the clouds and your gone.
* I believe John Lennon penned these lyrics.
Blessings and best wishes - S.
Being on vacation has its surreal aspects for me as well-- sometimes I feel as if I am visiting another planet. Your dive into the atmosphere and history of your vacation spot (the last nine lines) is what "makes" this poem for me.
Thank you for posting this to The Surreal Circus.
Wish I was there! :)
I Drive a Newspaper Taxi
Thanks for posting in Journey Into Poetry !