It's always about the rushing ahead
Yet you never left the bed on time
Until you see the clock has crept
And you now have to bolt
The BEST driver knows you by now
He doesn't stop, you want him to move
Neither can
The autorickshaw ahead has a mind of its own
And the pedestrians don't stop
The gutkha stains were so easy to wash off
But it's December, my leaf has orange shades
Not that I love it, but it is what it is
But soon, I will see you from above
Like the other brothers and sisters I have across the road
I wonder if that is what the crow had intended
When it decided to drop a fruit here
Start my origin story
But then I should be moved
Uprooted, thrown
For I will grow through this pavement, your home foundations
Maybe you will not notice me
Maybe I will be lucky
But who knows
It's Sunday, November's last day
Monday may bring something better
Other than the usual clutter of misarranged and mismanaged traffic
Hope?
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