Traffic islands

A silly spot of naughty verse)

Traffic islands of forbidden meat

Sacred speed breakers along our street

Disinfected evenly with goodly dung

For the many goodly ones among

Us who call her Mother

It’s a blessing no other

Nation or government may

Even hope for today

For what fancy roundabout

What designed pothole

Can stay that speeding lout

Or cleanse a greasy soul

Of that mortal sin of wanting

To get ahead. Flaunting

Our locomotive miracles

Be they Ferraris or bicycles.

Thank heavens for these

Our holy traffic police

Who sit around

And stand their ground.

A holy obstinacy

Of a sacred aristocracy.

Honk and abuse

It’s no use

Being irate.

Meditate.

That’s the salvific thing to do

For an eternal minute or two.

Then, if bladder and state

Of your mind cannot wait

Get down from your chariot and do

Obeisance. A worshipful “Shoo!”

That panchayat and govt. will not do for you.

 (See? My sillyverse

Is getting worse)

I better stop this naughty rant before

Mischief turns to malediction or more.