stepping out of the gate
feel a jerk seeing the thoroughfare
men racing in cars,
bikes fleeing in speed
auto rickshaws flying in all directions
I pull my foot in,
Unable to draw my feet out
I stay put inside,
peeking through the brass rods
holding them tight. An unknown fear
pervades as I stare at the road.
One and a half year of imprisonment
has turned me a recluse.
Gathering myself I walk out
still nervous, Everything
seems new. I stagger, My eyes
give out as they express an astonishment
seeing so many on the road not having
crossed one of them this eighteen months.