Rush Hour Poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay

Each to do in the morn
he stays focused on
still suffers the nagging doubt
something he's leaving out.

Morn is the rush hour.

giving the parrots a shower
feeding budgies making tea
making things for office ready.

Morn is the time for hurried food.

foul temper sullen mood
in the monstrous urgency
forgetting all decency.

The volatile morn fast departs.

it's enough if on time he starts
for a place he must be for hours' grind
leaving nothing behind but his mind!