It's Like That Always: A True Story Poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay

Seeing the man for nearly twenty years
In his eternal Spring of joblessness

Man, wife, a son
A one storied house
Market and home
The only places I have seen him tread
And on the roof
Any time of day
He’s there
Staring around
Sky gazing

I envy him
His length and space
Stealing my Saturday dusk
Sunday dawn
Weekday moon

I envy him
For so much time
If I had
Would have spun endless rhyme

But then ceasing remorse
That like him
Much time isn’t mine

I think

Stuffed with so much seen
Heard
Observed
The bard in me
In free time’s delirious wine
Wouldn’t have budged a line!