The Wayfarer - Poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
When the city gallops
Uncomprehendingly fast in his slowness
Wearying his blood wrinkling his face
He watches it go by at the bus stop.
No bus stops here anymore
Get in get out then closed door
But the shade homes wayfarer’s wait
If one sits broods on fate.
Contemplates mind how they’re redundant
Left and right all movers’ want
Sunset mellows in the time brewed find
The redeeming way is the one left behind.
The city races in a maddening buzz
The wayfarer only needs to trudge
Back to the road now sunk in dust
Retracing footsteps of love and trust!
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