His life began like bubbles
Not those that we begin
Eventually to live in
But those popping in waves
Insidiously inside shaken cola bottles
And waiting to erupt
At a drop of the cap
Then when his bubble burst
He became the meek stream
That concerts at the kitchen sink
Until one is moved enough
To applaud the cacophony
Or disconnect the melody
In attempt of conserving mother nature
Later he was bubbles again
This time amid the rattles
Of ice cubes in a scotch glass
While much of the liquor
Just spilled outside
Unheard and unfelt
On underlying muffled carpets
By the end he was just ice
Calm and composed and cold
Frozen in the burning fire
Oblivious to the funeral pyre
Dismissed from the rigmarole
And eighty-seven years of air
Became air pollution in 15 minutes
-K.G.
In memory of Mr. D. R. Ghosh, my grandfather.
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