Beyond the next bend

The air rushes with carsickness

Small globules of bile, yellowed, bitter like neem

roil in the watery sun

Fingers trail the jet streams, ears listen

to the sharp edges. the smell of metallic diesel

internally combusting

suffuses the sullen season of reasons

treason spikes the hills with sharp crimsons

where the road twists and loops, twice and thrice,

to trace back its origins

like a life line etched inside a doll’s stiffened hands --

Leaning over the dangerous periphery

of imaginations, you fall belter skelter through the

cloud-gaps over the prostrated flat lands below

where dwarf trees and stunted houses are shunted

like shabby picture print-outs tossed

sloppily—



Your eyes are transfixed on a point

beyond the next bend.