a lament by the roundabout

It was on the curb of the mammoth Roundabout with green and gold trees thick with dew- drenched, limp Flowers, laden and dejected, that The windshield of the car lay shattered, Etching hieroglyphics on her face and hands, a tattered shirt in full youth of glass arrows And the smashed bangles she had worn to celebrate her husband Of a few weeks

The glass splinters Like shrapnel had Been swept aside by the curb by the broom brigade moments back In which reflected in glory The early sun, black and curious mynahs and magpies, Their friends, chattering and Laughing to themselves in their reflections They had perhaps not known nor seen before The dogs on leash too Stretched their necks Forcing their mistresses on the morning walk

Taut in their legs and minds and sinewed purple veined arms, Wow wow Bo bo They bark At the hint of blood stench, Cars and bicycles and joggers race past, A few necks in slow motion in fleeting Turn to survey the Sorry collage of The broken bangles, laying in disarray Dismayed and scattered Their sharp broken angles glistening unmindful

The new husband waits for his new car to come home unscratched, unscathed Fetching his new Mrs And to make him a cup of tea in the new teapot

A burnt toast awaits on the table To be dumped in the trash...

Ravindra Tandon 28/10/22