Stories From A Yellow Room

Friday, June 20, 2008


The crowds filter the roads as red lights pause
The vehicles to a screeching halt.
The bus roars releasing that fume
Which apparently adds to global warming.
The auto next to you pulls up the gear and
Gets ready for the light to turn green,
A little girl with a much noisy toy
Knocks on your window, she
Bargains for the price
Reducing it a self-degrading amount,
Which might buy her the night’s meal.
Horns blare as lights turn green,
You wonder what the rush is ?
Ignition burns, vehicles start,
And the movement moves on the road that never ends.
People rushing home,
People moving away from home,
On the roads your common companions,
Struck with the same fate as yours,
So why can’t we then be more polite
Why can’t we then pass b y a smile?
Shake off the anger, take pleasure in pursuit
And chart the untreaded path.

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