The road gargled,
And the street lights fluttered,
The leaves rustled a little.
As tiny droplets fell rhythmic,
A need to describe became endemic-
Of the silent and nostalgic.
Tired like crumpled plastic-
Waiting for something to remould,
Hoping that hope won't grow old.
As puddles are formed,
The senses numb and wan-
They grow wary of the mysteries.
Injured cars stand lifeless,
Their bonnets holding silent souls,
Waiting for the fuel to flow.
Dormant, yet tired and fatigued,
The muscles feel soft and the mind cramped-
If only effort was revered.
All those ants that must be drowning,
And those rats that reside in sewage,
Must now be homeless and wet.
Silent trees dance to an unknown melody,
The mind tries to grasp everything in its reach.
Yet fails to register lest indifference be breached.
The road gargles,
And the street light flutters-
The winds play havoc.
This dusty road,
That leads to somewhere-
Also divides.
Am I on a less brighter side?
Where the North star cannot be seen,
And the directions all skew.
The road that leads to somewhere also divide,
Have I been left behind?
The light shines the brightest
