In the banality of busyness, the crisp words melt away without a trace
Only some aftertaste of repentance; a morning feels feverish in surrounding cold
Willingly becoming an unwilling partner to the race that holds our hands roughly
The wrists feel the pain, while the sore feet finds this experience rather tedious
Easier leaving compared to the decisions a heart has to make while entering an abode
Insomniac wanderings, euphoric celebrations of being awake at the wrong times
The ones we receive and deceive or the lucky few who do not bother any companionship
Fury has no reason, the banality of exaggerated reactions to all the wrongful decisions
Greeted with bouquets of obstinacy and blossoming pride is a strange welcome
It easy to disappear in the busyness, but the excuses are devoid of any meaning
~Amitav
Amitav Chowdhury 