Saturday, March 6, 2010

A rickshaw ride

Trrr… Trrr..
The yellow rickshaw goes
On an Indian road
That is noisy yet silent
Amidst the honking horns
swaying leaves
and a habitual hurry
every where
As it goes
A cool breeze hits
And strands of hair flutter
iPod melodies sing along
Abstract swirls
Splash the unconscious
Rolling numbers on the meter
Distill the consciousness
The red light of the traffic signal
Catches your attention
The driver spits
A fury of red splatters
The strong aroma of paan
Fills the air
Men on bikes
peep, bend, stare
To get a glimpse of you
You look away
Notice the half bitten apple
As you feel the glossy silver of your pod
You smile
Take a silent sideway look
At the men
You stare back
The rickshaw goes again
Along the bumpy roads
Rs. 93
Meter was fast

Saturday, February 27, 2010

And sometimes...

Flying strands of hair,
Compete with,
The curtains dancing,
In the whoosh whoosh air.
Silence within,
Tells a tale.