Q u i d a m

Smokes and flashlights

Centre road, light flashes in the wet ground

where once sky wept over, I zoom in the pitch black road,

once chaotic cryptic sounds, now spin as silent audience—

the dogs bark aloud, at a hint of intruder or being alert,

Street lights dance along with the black and white striped zebra.

In disco, whereas inferno lights burst and grazing back in the rearview,

I see, trees passing by, windows closed shut—

faint snoring of watchman on the brown stool,

I closed my eyes, falling into the steering wheel—

Next time, when it's opened — the roadhouse is meddling with dark,

I'm madly dashing in the crossed fires, a cat is crossing as new flag,

Zigzags, muddle, through the narrow allies,

Next, fox is running late— steering wheel, pumping blood—

In the deafening silence, ringing in ears, perked with rushes and brushes.

The accelerated speedy motors whirl around,

And my black wheels hugged the black road, in the spunky dunkers

where molten dreams fuse with smoke.

Drunken men screeched with top of lungs, aunties got new stories to tell,

the sobbing itchiness finally stopped, some yellow and blue lights

faintly dimming through the night,

And I thought, I was leaving behind—

Every corner in the breezy point, where trees trespass

with dancing glances.

Yet only my hair, got entangled in messy straps,

Nothing moved back, portholes shimmer in the spattered

lights, where auburn rays: waiting to grill over grey world.

— 21st July, 2023