THE TEACHER

Cold rain drops, slowly fell
On my shoulders, something wasn’t well
After a cheerful tour, the minds were fresh
They didn’t care, this minor distress
As the drops hastened, we had to go
In the rain and our luggage too
“Run along quick”, the bus would come
Drenched we reached, there was no-one
The drops grew bigger and the anger
Moments passed, the bus was still nowhere

“Rickshaw” they called, the others went
Also the Teacher, the rain – constant
How can she leave? Just an innocuous question
Valid and obvious in that soaked confusion
Walls have ears, I smell rats everywhere
Worthless lives, bloody twisted traitors
Didn’t she jump and burn in rage
Calling names and blames, defying her age
Every word uttered, heartless and cruel
Wicked glances, curses, seemed unreal
All this in the crowded railway station
Hair untied, devil like, in childish frustration
Years have passed, many memories too
Not this one, never will do.

TRAFFIC

The road is long and quite narrow
Was already sweating, up and below
Had to run hard to catch the bus
Far and more in the mad rush
Crowded and packed every little inch
No space to move or soothe the twitch

Completely jammed, the road badly blocked
No way through, every exit shut
Hours pass but not the woes
The crowd only thickens the traffic grows
The end seems never, the journey forever
Can’t even move or take a breather
The road is long and quite narrow
Still profusely sweating, up and below.