An unsound bell rings.
“No one lives here”, screams
whoever remains semi-soporific inside.
Why sleep when you can dream –
no one rings the bell,
no one alive anymore except
you, the last drinker swigging
moonshine made in
an earthen pot of ancient rot?
The bell rings and whoever
denies his life breathes inside –
in his soggy trousers,
torn tee shirt, (remember
who chose those?) rejected Marx,
wine soaked couch and in
his voice loud, locked in his head –
“No one lives here. Leave this
address alone.”
Kushal Poddar
Illustration Nick Victor
Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe