In her twenties

your daughter leveled with me,

"Uncle, I'll never desire a baby."

I knew why,

and why her dinghy gybed

away from you,

and, although the race of time

would not medal you a win,

why you lurched and chased her.

Tonight when you call,

"I have a grandchild."

I listen to our archaic repeater;

a slow car honks;

night writhes as crickets bore

a million fervor on its mouth.

By Kushal Poddar

From: India

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