At stopping sight distance He saw a flame Stunned by her beauty Applying brake was delayed She received a big jolt With quite a small force There was an eye to eye contact Both turned out to be thugs Aspiring to lead a **** life There was a binge of love Leading them to be husband - wife Bollywood stories are like!
Start by hitting snooze Twice for good measure Leave the house just a few minutes later Turning right into a jam A thick, slow traffic jam Viscous car molasses But much less sweet Sit there for a second Simmering in sweat Your blood begins to boil Your hands begin to clench Grip the steering wheel Watch the clock tick time away Curse your screeching alarm Curse the convertible in front of you Curse Monday mornings Curse anything but yourself Know that screaming at the cars Won’t make that red turn green But do it anyway Honk your horn Flash an unfavorable finger To the vehicles doing the same to you How is it rush hour When everything is lagging Your will to move is sagging Roll your eyes at the radio Wishing listeners a good morning Oblivious to your mini meltdown Once you can peel away And break through that barrier Sprint down that street Swerving aggressively Whip into the parking lot Pretend your throat isn’t hoarse And your knuckles aren’t white Go about your day Get excited for tomorrow morning Tuesdays are better Right?
In October last year Supreme Court ruled Traffic and public spaces Can't be blocked by the protesters Causing inconvenience To the public What would you do now Farmers block traffic Govt., public mute spectators Innocent public in emergency suffers Who bothers? Law only on paper!
I wait on a little island Marooned in the sea of traffic The grey sky broadcasts sweet outcomes To the farmer in me But the lack of an umbrella Makes my mind jittery I'm vulnerable in my suit, tie and all If the sky should burst open its floodgates Where will I find shelter, with my laptop and phone? Hurry Mr. Driver Spur on that staff bus!
Glenarah and Robert Mugabe roads intersection in Harare
being stuck, they say, is uncomfortable. i believe it’s not necessarily true. for instance,
...i like getting stuck inside my room and read for a day or two or three or four, forever. ...i like getting that last song stuck in my head for a day or two or three or four, forever. ...i like getting stuck in traffic with my pen and paper. ...i like getting stuck in the moment...perhaps, with you.
getting stuck is an opportunity, staying stuck is unhealthy
staying stuck on a single story out of convenience regardless of its completeness is poison mistaken for remedy