Treasure Island

Pradip Chattopadhyay

(28.01.1961 / Kolkata)

Bakers


In the ill-lit room singed with ovens’ heat
Swift hands deftly turn wheat balls sweet
The air exudes a smell of pulpy soft taste
Blended with the odd fragrance of sweat!
Here reigns under the tin shed eternal night
As if by some design is forbidden daylight
Roll out confectionaries crisp and light
To fill the mouths with salivary delight!
Bread, cake, cookie and cherry bun
Kneading them in the heat is no fun
The bakers’ faces glow warm and red
Faster they must go before they rest their head!
The delicious stuff are relished by kids and grownups
They savor the flavor with their hot morning cups
Do they ever pause or give it a thought
How those laboring bodies in the heat rot!

Submitted: Saturday, April 20, 2013
Edited: Saturday, April 20, 2013
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

What I saw at a bakery

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