Howl. Poem by Subhadip Bhattacharya

This world is a madhouse
and I am in a straitjacket.
Of course it loosens up,
when there is an uniform to wear.
When there is work.

Still the big horizon called skyline,
zaps my brain as it goes round and round.
The day end's work cannot stop the
maddening spinning of the reasoning,
reasoning of the sound.

I want to grab hold of my thumping heart.
As it zooms down to talks of death.
My brain says to stop and wait and start,
to look into insignificant matters.
Matters of days in and out and not of,
disoriented scattered slips of time.

A dollar, a rupee a dime,
a place to hide the evening for
a place to howl at the morning sky.
Called the earth, where no one is eternal....