Shameless Broadcast of a Road Trip-18

God, omnipresent, can come in the bus behind,

He loves dhaba, suvidha, and cheap plastic toys,

But then you can leave this mela grind,

To see come a dusty market in no time,

primary school teacher is thankful since you dropped him by,

and after-a-while,

see hyper sized colleges and idols in places nowhere and you say why,

where dust blows,

possibly is edge to a declared sanctuary,

on horizon is hills you can see,

beautiful Aravali green and free,

takes a good time to cross by,

reach the town of Udaipur I don’t know why,

see the fort and its kings insecurity,

appreciating his own art, grandeur and army,

as the concept and days of freedom they whizzy.

Old city around is crowded and everything is familiar,

villagers have become hoteliers,

highest stacks for the highest flame in every corner,

holi is to burn tonight and more is to come tomoro further,

right now it is all about drum beats, fun and law and order.

Well, they don’t realize it has always been so,

My own misery,

can’t find a cheap place tonight,

so, drinks become too many and the night,

city closed, highway in open,

so wake up the homeless for some gas,

and pursue the journey,

and can’t sleep tonight because,

Time it is to me. Space it’s unto you.

Shameless Broadcast of a Road Trip-17

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.