The workingman climbs
his evening stairs, his
a little unstable, one breath
intoxicated steps of light
and partial darkness.
The door’s light becomes
the one eye he cares about,
and it judges but comprehends too.
The insects, white and blurred,
swarm a song of the dim bulb.
The next door lives his priest,
and next to that a whore.
The road quivers with loads.
Silence is a victim of hit and run
often, albeit returns giggling.
The feet of the workingman
recite an ode to Sisyphus
and roll up his weight.
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Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor
Picture Nick Victor
Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe
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