My neighbor has bought a Freezer
and playful atmosphere in my home is frozen
every face is taut like the tent of Circus
from her to them all readied to fiercely assault
my deficit budget like the opposition party.
I am a pilot running planes every day
but cannot run my home neatly
I live with this bitter truth in my heart
and feed gaping mouths given to gluttony.
Just yesterday, she insisted on a cooler
and my limbs went cool and numb
now-a-days the seasonal winds
of my neighbors' prosperity
blow through my home and
wipe out mirth from my face.
I try to ever convince her
that her questions within
four walls are not my questions
what be called a question,
is a ticklish question!
If our eyes that cry for our own griefs
do not shed few tears on others' pains,
they are not eyes but looking sockects.
If our sleep is not broken by day's calls
we are just corpses stuck into inert mind
Like the glass you broke yesterday
we are going to be broken tomorrow
before that let us do a bit to slake someone's thirst
let alone awake others, we must awake ourselves first.
Comments about this poem (Domestic Truth by Madhav Sarkunde )
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