THE UNSTABLE LINE DRAWN HERE - Poetry by Kushal Poddar

An unsound bell rings.
“No one lives here”, screams 
whoever remains semi-soporific inside.

Why sleep when you can dream - 
no one rings the bell, 
no one alive anymore except 

you, the last drinker swigging 
moonshine made in 
an earthen pot of ancient rot? 

The bell rings and whoever 
denies his life breathes inside – 
in his soggy trousers, 

torn tee shirt, (remember
who chose those?) rejected Marx, 
wine soaked couch and in

his voice loud, locked in his head –
“No one lives here. Leave this 
address alone.”

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