Sisyphus toils, I brush my teeth

A poem about the myth of sisyphus and the repetitiveness of everyday life.  

Every morning I wake up ,

a white foam forms inside the slimy lacunae of my cheeks

The toothbrush whirls around 

Next I watch Sisyphus toil,

I must carry his burden too.

 Among different hills we push the boulders up ,

heaving and panting till the stars come up .

Their vastness explodes against my vision,

Only rum and a gentle arm beneath my breasts could calm my awe.

 A new man, everyday, must whisper my beauty into my ears. 

Mirrors lie when I walk past,

 so do womens’ eyes ;

 brimming with contempt. 

My roommate screams at a cockroach with wings,

squatting between cemented walls he cannot comprehend.

brown antlers of the arthropod range ,

twitch at the loudest of noises

He climbs up the tiny crack in the wall, 

moist with perspiring moss invading a tiled human place. 

A plastic slipper flies, he lies flailing underneath.

Sisyphus sighs and rolls his boulder again,

his crown now jeweled 

with drops of sweat

 blockading starlight. 

I roll upwards , 

toward another white foamy day against my cheeks. 

And downwards again

to a warm bed with a cold companion

Neither of our naked bodies entangled 

Staring at the stars Sisyphus could not touch

~Chandrima Dey

SY BSc. Economics

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