Kushal’s poem features a crow nesting within the speaker’s skull, symbolising internal decay and loss of selfhood and emphasising the fragility of existence for Different Truths.
The crow’s head materialises
from its recess through
my eye-sockets. Inside
my skull, its neat nest,
coils up warmth for the next
and the next of its kind.
Have you heard the constant
flipping of a calendar?
Press your ears on my chest.
The crow goes back, my interior
is its self-sustainable ecosphere.
It eats my heat, flutters around
and sits on some nerve or organ.
I feel comfort and pride imagining
that I am its day outside a shawarma place,
its cold-heart-serpent night
for its panicking fledgling.
Press your chest against my one ear.
The birds should know that other skies exist.
Illustration by the poet
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