Of dogs and sandwiches


There's a street, the one I usually take when I don't want to reach home.
The street is never empty and the space is never enough.
The street is one of the busiest street of the city, just like all the streets, all over the world.
It's not a very unusual street, not the one photographers use to capture aesthetics, the street does not have a fancy ancient looking gate
The kind of street no body would write poetry about - it lacks isolation, misery and a beggar contemplating his life.
It's a chaotic street, with vendors and dogs. When I don't want to reach home, I buy sandwiches and share them with the dogs.
I could spend days here, but I have to return home - my family always waits too long
I start walking my way out, the street is long and the walk - tiring.
It's evening, the home must be exhausted of awaiting, for someone to reside in. The home must be impatient now for it'd yearning to be built.
And, I have to return to my family it's almost moonlight, but this street - this one I usually take when I can't reach home, this street is never ending

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