looking out the window
i sat leg crossed
on the chair of bedbugs
with pencil in my hand
thinking of everything
like a man
who will be taken
to the gallows pole.
no words, you know,
ever came
like my window
open to a dark world.
Daddy knew
i was trying hard to be a poet
or philosopher
he told me;
"My son! before you find the right words
Change your name to Chattopadhyay"
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