Kushal’s poem describes a barber’s shop, a sanctuary of stories, where age brings inner darkness while the barber tells tales, exclusively for Different Truths.
Hair rolls on the floor.
The barber's nimble
and calloused hand whooshes,
spells and shapes the dark night
on the head. The scissors'
sharp edges catch the light,
sparkle and blink amidst
the bushes like the fireflies.
In the foggy mirrors' reservoirs
the electronic moon ripples.
The gossip spills, and the room
of a thousand perfume smokes
another puff of eau de toilette.
As I age the magic weakens.
The necessary darkness thins.
My night is deeper inside than
outside. The barber's tales spin
around the witch trials we
have survived, nothing more
than your daily battles.
Picture design by Anumita Roy
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