He Won't Return

On my way to work today, I saw the body of a man, who had met with a gruesome accident. His body, which was dead, lay sideways on the road. His legs were still on the bike he had been riding. His helmet lay scattered in pieces, over the road. Now, I could give you a mean description of the rest of the scene, but I would refrain from doing so, for fear of being called a pervert. Specially, when I am a woman, and most of the people I know who visit this blog are women, or sensitive souls. The only part I would betray is that his neck was a stump now, and he had no head, the only consolation being that he was dead, and thus not present to feel the pain.

My autowala shuddered all the way to Forum, where I was to get down, and I don't quite remember how much I paid him. The news was a sensation all along Banerghatta Road, so that Autowalas were exchanging info amongst them and bonding with techies on bikes, imparting the knowledge with appropriately masculine gesticulations.

I wondered if these people would remember this incident, the nerve wracking sight, which some unfortunate few witnessed. Will they pause for a moment, before they raise their speed limit the next time. I get a few words in my head today, and I dedicate them to that unknown man, and his family who now have to be brave.

My son today
Will not come home
While I sat and counted my grey hair
They pushed him into some unknown space

My man today
Is gone
While my eyes stormed out
My heart’s infliction
They snatched my colours away

My father today
Will not return
While I drew a family portrait
They erased his essence clean

They washed the streets with him
They cut his cords within
They clicked good snaps
Of the patterns his blood made
Across the ebony streets