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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 44


The bird's monologue demands
nothing of the listeners,
now not being a time for breadcrumbs;

the clouds prearrange their thoughts
and then think them out aloud;
the monologue comes into fashion,

and the roads of this city
drift harking and mishearing
what, one possibility may claim,

could have opened the spaces
only truths can level.
The bird cares not if they listen.

Kushal Poddar