Days of road, hotel and strangers,
of contrasting skin, voices, stares and colors,
I think all are over.
On the smooth highway swift feels smoother and softer,
with morning dew sweet in my mouth I pass some hundred kilometers,
and another a few hundred after,
leading myself home,
for it has been time that has been to me,
and space I gave to you all.
Unless I decide for a detour,
snap out a turn of a tiring moment,
and rather than south find on the road east,
old civilizations anew living the moment,
their customs, houses, clothes, colors,
it can be seen through the road,
through the grains of dusts,
dazzle of the heat,
and thorns of the desert.
Though their brothers are laying bitumen,
on the sides is sifting sand,
containing civilizations within.
Small cities with fresh vegetables,
has colored bangles buying them,
the same railway track I cross,
bus stand next to it,
chief engineers and collector’s homes I pass again.
New roads new signs but still they confuse,
and in India you ask even if you are not lost,
and sometimes in exchange you have to give a lift,
your time it can be to you,
but you have to forego a little space then,
simply you cannot refuse,
a full happy family loaded behind,
they are to see a new temple of the creator God,
the temple this one they say is the only second,
in the whole wide world,
recognized, by men,
armed by retired gun-men,
who won’t allow cameras, only faith on your face,
and thankfully reminding,
Time it is to me. Space it’s unto you.
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