Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash
---- Leonard Cohen
Thursday, July 9, 2009
A Day in the life of ........
Those potholed roadslie flat in apathy, As she lumbers acrosscarrying the load, Of humanity, Revving up with a sneeze, A delighted exhaust blast, She siddles up to a busstop.
Tired faces at windows, Nose on the bar, watching the battle to enter, The right to a Square Foot of Steel, As other feet fight , umbrellas as weapons, Dripping the pollution of the skies.
Some polite moves, Some leching eyes, Body contracting to one side, She clutches her purse, and the child holding onto schoolbooks, Wet behind the ears, Shoes stepping on her sandaled feet, The toe ring hurts.
And the brown uniform, taps his punch on the seat rod, Calls out , and beckons.... "Sir, cant you see, This is a ladies seat, Ma'am, come forward..." And she puts the child ahead, squeezes against briefcases, and limbs Clutching her purse Getting ahead.
A sudden pothole, A surprise jerk, They fall backwards, They've lost their place, but fall unhurt, tumbling over a base, Cushioned by the humanityof Mumbai, Packing the monsoon buses.
They dust themselves, tucking in dishevelled thoughts, Collect their bags and Thoughts, Clutching the rods once again Ruffling the hair of a child, Who stands again with his mother, Facing another schoolday, Another bus, Another crowd, Another rain.... The same life...........