Standing down the pale grey sky
on a dark road
lonely bus stand and night of hot june ,
where dark is the only soul to talk ,
and millions of odd dust cleansing your feet .
Not only feet but
Shampooing your hair
with limitless satchels of dust.
It feels warm.
Dark and empty roads , dusky and lifeless sky
you stare and stare and stare at them .
No feeling brimming ,
no tensions pushing your grey hard .
It is just the dark blue sky and you ,
drawing love with bare hands ,
And kisses , kisses , and kisses
followed by .
Kissing the dust atomicies .
Yummy are the lips .
with its ever crooning voice ,
singing the rhymes of martyrs
going back to their nest
after developing in a hot day .
The headlight of different buses flash by ,
37 , 47 , 211 , 30 many numbers ,
I eye .
I am free now .
Mindlessly walking in the dark .
No eagerness to travel to the juncture ,
the place known and unknown
where my parents live .
Still at the adjourn of morn and night ,
the buses sing in a high tone,
calling out different names
of distant places ,
to where the bus would sail .
Buses don’t run at night .
They sail with the flow .
The road seems to be snake,
zigzaging at a speed .
Leaving out histories every moment .
Creating them .
And in the dark street , you meet people like you .
Empty and eyeing the sky.
Smoking , to take itself high above the earthen pole ,
Above the adobe of darkness ,
to the land where only happy people exist .