Inspired by Bangalore traffic, I have come up with this poem. Do let me know if it can be called so:
Bad traffic! Slithering, smoke-spewing traffic!
Like a dying dragon, punctured at every rib
Choking like a burning rope!
Directionless, emotionless, spasmodic
Like a mortally wounded multi-headed monster!
Tangled, intertwined, choked
Like serpents in an embrace!
Can be expanded the next time I get stuck in a traffic jam.
1 comment:
Dude...stick with prose...Tennyson just cartwheeled in his grave...the 'poem' was so morbid that I may never venture out in Bangalore....hehe
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