BUTT-ENDS
Ashok Niyogi
Like the madman in matted hair
With a fixed stare
I assiduously collect the butt-ends of my days
From ash-trays:
I meticulously arrange them on my writing table
In descending order, longer to shorter
And then I carefully calculate
How much time I have left
After I have smoked the last cigarette.
It’s a wonderfully repetitive process
Now that I have learnt to hoard.
Now all I must do
Is keep a box of matches ready
To get on board.
