The road is an outlandish river
wide and deep, drifting the waste and the unused
miserable and desperate vehicles,
only when it flows.
But it moves sluggishly.
Blue taxis among the puzzling blockage
the silvers, the whites, the blacks are rampaged.
The two-wheelers are outminded, chasing blurry goals, ludicrous dreams
Palms are moisting, heads churning.
Where are we heading to?
Speed is jested at, thin-airing, we are scrapping time, unrewindable time.
The wave is governed by regular lights
it’s looked at anxiously, stroke-stricken, against the robust sun.
Giant-super markets and giant-super carts are whirlpool, leading to lost in destination.
People, where are you going? Loathed and damned people, we are.
Lumped, drowned in its bed.