A mangled
bicycle
A trail
of destruction
The
offending jeep stands witness
A pair of
feet
A
blanket-covered body
A picture
of utter and complete bleakness.
Mute
spectators walk on
Or drive
by in slow tribute
Tribute
paid as someone reaches the final goal of life
Reached
too soon by some
Ending
joy, sorrow, perplexity, honour --
A life
perhaps lived constantly in the throes of strife.
And at
the end of life what remains
Is a
tiffin carrier of spilt contents
Spread
out on the road leaving an unholy trail
From the
place of impact
To the
mangled remains of man and machine
Creating
a mole-hill mountain and a little dale.
Who made
those contents for him?
I wonder
about who will mourn this life, this death:
Who will
look out the window time and again tonight
and wait
and wait and wait
for the
precious to return to the warmest fold?
Whose
safe world will this passing smite?
beautiful imagery
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