Poetry: Sayan Dey

Sayan Dey

By Sayan Dey

Modern Day Solitude
Sayan Dey

He wakes up early in the morning,
abuses the alarm clock,
brushes his teeth,
half irons his clothes,
grabs a half-eaten apple,
and then a growl to the neighbor –
“Hey man, will you shut the hell up,
and stop talking? I am in search of solitude.”

Missing the 7:00 am bus,
he growls again,
speeding down the topsy-turvy footpath,
he growls one more time.
Then, honking comes the mini-bus,
and then a growl to the driver –
“Hey man, will you shut the hell up,
and stop the bus? I am in search of solitude.”

The bus stops.
He gets up.
The bus runs down the town,
passes the same woman in red gown.
Then, comes once again the clowny frown.
“Hey man, will you shut the hell up,
and stop the bus? I have reached my destination of solitude.”

He gets down,
walks into the crowd of solitude….
a stinking heap of bank balance,
cluttering bottles of alcohols,
bed sheets spotted with sperm drops,
a garbage of broken dreams,
and endless suicide notes.

My Cubicle

A well equipped corner, with
a grey table,
a black revolving chair,
a warm glass,
filled with freshly brewed coffee.

I arrive to open the windows,
get soaked in the fresh delight of the sun, or
in the sprinkling raindrops.
 I also close the windows,
amidst the setting sun…

In between….

A thunder of cataclysmic cacophony. 

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