By Pallavi
I counted all mile stones, all trees and all sign boards.
Baffled by the coequal symphony, I broke the reckoning
cords.
How much far have I come and how much more I have to cover.
There must be a speed limit; there must be a route more
sober.
The distance seems uncalculative, the route looks latterly
unearthed.
The winds smell crude and land cluttered with fictions obnoxiously
versed.
Scared I run on the inescapable road, finally I sit to catch
some breath.
I fall asleep only to wake up in
arms of one who holds all the wealth.
