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.