Fortress Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

We cross each other —
one another —
often, very often,
almost every day,
five days a week.

We do not speak.
We do not smile.
To speak to a stranger is not courteous —
so we are taught.

The madman in the corner
speaks to everyone.
He is mad, they say,
because he does not know courtesy —
does not know
the walls we carry.

A private space
in a public domain —
that is what a city is.

Secure. Compact.
Like a fortress.
A closed space
where even a fly cannot enter.

A city.
A modern city.