Mr. Biswas Comes Back Home

Moving straight in darkling lane
Faced with windows
Locked up all,
I search in vain
In regular pain
A kindly face to peep and look
And light up darkened roads with smile
So that I in vacant rooms
Leaving halls of guilty glass
Cook me up some fragrant dish
And dine with dreams of what could be.

I check the mail and take my bills
And drag me up the stairs which burst
Into shouts of “why so late”
And tell me what to buy from store
On my way back from the work.
Sagging into worn-out couch
I gulp it all with glass of juice
While the doors are slammed and shut.

Cringing cold in calmest bed
I fly and plunge in open sea.