Cul-De-Sac Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

Cul-De-Sac

If stars are dreams,
the house next door
is the cover
that blocks our view.

Refrigerator, television,
cars—of comparable
size and make—
become synonymous with life.

Dreams die. Stars too.
The wall sits on the chest.

Did we want this end?
All the world a dead end.

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