A Bump On The Road

A road had finally

broken through the copse.

It was not an uncertain

muddy meandering trail

but one metalled with

murderous intent.

 

Unheard sounds had

now taken root in the

heart of the thicket.

The insidious ivies of noise

had woven a gossamer of fear

around the wilderness.

 

Dread distended the dimensions

of four yards.

Peeved by the scurrying

of furry little feet on its body

the road responded

with growl of engines

and whine of horns.

 

Then on one cold evening

when the wood was shivering

like a tramp in tatters

and the wind tossed about

the screaming colours of  autumn

and the cries of hunger

I found myself jogging on the road.

 

At a distance I saw a man negotiating

a bump on the road,

with his scooter trample the sod.

On approaching I found

it to be mongoose

still wedged

with a sliver of life.

 

Upon me could I feel

the glare of a host

of beady reproachful eyes

as I deliberated on its fate:

to be mangled with the road

or to die a slow agonizing death

in the nature’s fold.

 

I thought hard

before I pushed it off the road

and into the wild.

But not before I had heard

the susurrations in the air,

"vengeance on the road".