Road Speak

A nigger of sorts,
Made of tar,
I lie everywhere,
Witness to the life that
Bustles on me- and
Occasionally ends on me.

A million wheels converse
With me any day;
The contraptions they propel-
Are they dragons, I wonder-
Exhaling, not fire, but air-
Air that kills!

Fluids spring on me-
Those of beetel and of phlegm.
My counterparts abroad
Are exempted from this,
But I don't envy them,for
They are not as entertained as me.

Variety in life, I can talk about.
For I see the millionaire in his car
As well as the pavement-resident pauper.
Neither is entirely happy.
The former fears his business rivals
And relishes his six-digit profits.
The latter fears his kid starving another night
And relishes his two-digit daily wage.

Tall buildings grow on both my sides,
Stacked upto the sky, they appear!
Congested homes and work places
In these stacks exist.
I do hate these stacks, for,
They have taken away my companions-
My friendly and ever protective trees.

An onlooker of Life and Death-
I will live on, unfazed,until
The next group of men and machines
Dig me up for multifarious needs
And restitch my torn being.
A bump-filled life will then resume.