Through the ajar
Alice size, rabbit size,
potion size door
the new tenant stare
at the room even his
daughter’s Peppa pig won’t fit.
If he turns on the lights here
the room within lights up,
but when he feels blue
it stays dark with power on.
The word ‘If’ visits him often.
What if that is the room
meant for him not this?
What if he lives a wrong life
larger than he ever desired, deserved?
He doesn’t tell even his wife.
Here exist a room under the skin
of the walls they paint,
hang the portraits and happy faces on.
What if he exposes the room
to one too many and like an old photo reel
it disappears, turns into mist?
Kushal Poddar