A Writer's Predicament Poem by Abhijit Roy

Down the alleyway, lived a little-known writer,
A fruitless year it was.
He used to write for magazines;
And this year, most articles of his were turned down.

It was the freezing December cold,
And his ragged woolen clothes barely kept him warm;
So, he promenaded more in the crowded zones.
With some thoughts of the past meandering through his mind.

Failure did gander at his face,
This grimace for him was mystique macabre;
His limbs caught speed.
Toward his poor tiny room.

Having shut the door real fast,
He settled down to think;
After gulping down a glass of water.

Left are a few pages to write on,
And a few pennies to buy wood for his fireplace.
He spoke to himself: he articulated his thoughts.
“That how’d the next year be?
What’d his prospects be? ”

--

ABHIJIT ROY
Place: Guwahati, Assam, India
Date: 13-march-2011