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So

Dr Prasenjit Maiti

this is September.
I woke up with a hangover. Had
an untidy shave and a late shower.
The breakfast went cold with apprehension

but my
coffee was frightfully hot. I am supposed to

read poetry before
you all this afternoon. This word I do not quite like,
afternoon. It reminds me of all
that I do not want to be reminded of.
For I believe it was an afternoon when she walked
out of our lives, leaving me to savor our

dinner alone like a
heartless something. And this word, too,

heartless. It is so meaningless that I do not

want to be reminded of its meaninglessness.
So this is September. And I have read my

lonely poetry before each of your
lonely eyes like nothingness



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