Crossing the road at noon.
The yellow lines on the road.
Wish they were yellower,
Dotted with crows, jet black
And shining.
The vast sky, grey clouds,
Men and women wandering.
Men and women.
Tries hard to empathise,
What a daunting task!
The thread that connects,
The thread of sanity
Seems dangerously fragile.
Blaring horns, noisy chatter,
Vehicles coming to screeching
Halts, expletives and
Contemptuous glares.
Things are at their places,
At their respective places.
Perhaps the way
It was meant to be.
Relieved, no, for
The perennially doomed
Each escape means
To confront the horror,
Again and again and again…
