First, the flesh rots and dissolves,
and the fish devour it so
it becomes the fish,
and then it swims in schools of cold,
in the spring floats upstream for mating.
My father catches it there.
That night the stars burns free;
our dinner tastes soulful.
The flesh and the rot, rot and fish,
fish and us become one.
One who have nothing and
the same who have less
than that.
We eat our flesh. Oh so sweet and so savoury.
It doesn’t lie to the hunger. Hunger
never leaves it lone.
(Kushal Poddar is an author and a father, Kushal Poddar, former editor of Words Surfacing, authored eight books, and his works have been translated in eleven languages. Twitter: //twitter.com/Kushalpoe. Views expressed in this article are personal and may not necessarily reflect the views of Outlook Magazine)
