Rain, Market and a Sick Mentality

Outside
The drizzle of rain
Through the night.
Both of us in bed,
Whispering,
With no trace of sleep in our eyes.
You say
And I get it:
Like my friends I have not
Built a house in the city,
Bought you ornaments,
Owned vehicles.
With two children
We cannot travel by scooter.
But is it not a fact that
Those who have cars and buildings
On loan
Cannot straighten their backbones?
Well, you know
How easily I can fall asleep, snoring.
These days it is something special
Which does not happen on mattresses.
Believe me,
I haven\'t come across a good wife
Who has divorced her husband
Kicking him across his bare shins,
Scolding, “Nincompoop,
Misappropriating,
Exploiting the poor in the daytime,
Buying me ornaments
And showing me your masculinity at night?
Keep your world to yourself. I\'m leaving.”
In fact, I have never seen a woman like this.
Look,
How this night passes with its poverty.
We do not have time to discuss
Things happening around us.
Really Sanu,
Why does man\'s imagination die?
Is it killed or does it die on its own?
After all, what\'s our longevity?
Can we live till morning
To see the end of this night?
Such is our mentality
It ushers a market, a mercantile transaction
Into our bed
Which is meant purely for cohabitation.
Sanu, just see
How the rotten corpse of a sick mentality
Has taken possession of our bed
That once foamed with love.

RAIN, MARKET AND A SICK MENTALITY