How
we drive our vehicles,
Our Achabas and Okadas,
And weave our way across our roads,
Paint the true ‘us’,
Our tumultuous inner self.
The story of a family of road users,
Everyone a friend or a neighbour,
A colleague or a leader,
In confusion with themselves.
The sane the stranger and outcast.
As a ‘dutiful’ bunch we are happily reckless
In speed, as we flout the traffic signs.
Alas, there may be no signs.
Heedless, as we brake and as we turn.
Rash, as we speed over the ‘round-abouts’.
We disparage fellow commuters
As we sprint to beat the traffic light,
Where there are lights, anyway.
Everyone ‘joyfully’ exhibiting anarchy.
Neither age absolved, nor gender.
None worthy of the other's ear,
Or sympathy,
The leader, the follower,
The politician, the public servant.
Were sanity on our roads a manifesto,
Leadership would’ve led this twitchy family to stability.
Let’s water this seeming bottomless pit
To save it from being a pit, fit only for the poo.
