The Migrant worker's poem

Bare branches of the champak tree
And two forlorn flowers
Cast loneliness at the cold breath
Of ashen skies

No sunset today.

Sleep has exhausted its dreams
And at night
Having set up his mosquito net
He scratches his chest and loins
And sifts through fantasies
For names of pleasures
That would do

Reluctantly tuck in
And slip off to oblivion

Morning comes with an upsetting configuration
Of the hands of the watch

Hours pass,
Late for office.
And hours pass
And tea and cigarette times.
And time for lunch
And a quick siesta
And the two hours
Of the second half.

And tea at the shanty
And lightening conversation of fellow ghosts
Tuesday gone
And another three to go.

But the return

The return

Wherever you go
The return!

Kolya Nagar, Dhanbad, Late 2008/early 2009?