City Traffic

By Pankaj Debbarma

January 12, 2024

Horde of beasts,

On the city streets,

Mechanical in make,

Keeping the livings perpetually awake,

Through vicious roarings and snarlings.

Queuing in serpent-like curling,

Spewing sordid dirt and dust,

Heightening the earth’s thirst,

Seems like Frankenstein has run loose.

With incapacitated prey to choose,

From destination-bound footers,

The beasts, all akin, snot hooters,

Makes the beings to wonder.

And compel them to rage a deep utter,

“Why don’t these mechanical beasts spare the livings

 A cent of peace, at least?”

Audio-video read of the poem.
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