Monday, January 25, 2016

Ananya S. Guha- A Poem

Bus Journey

mesmeric jolt
the bus huffed, panted
and then we got down to
discover a village dotted
with hills streaks of fading
blue and discoloured green
a small house somewhere
where inhabitants seemed
to be on strike, a petrol station
looked sorrowfully at us
the bus had suffered from a stiff
puncture, and our bodies taut
just wanted to know the name
of this village where at 6 pm
all had gone to sleep
in the midst of hills signing off
perhaps an uneventful day
except that massive tyre puncture
licking wounds.

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