Don't scroll, search for it here...

Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Sunday, 4 September 2016

Wheels of death

The treads of my Yamaha whisked over the scorching asphalt. It was a hot afternoon, the kind that made your hair itch if you had a helmet on. I rode like a dare devil. I was about halfway way the stretch on the service rode heading home, riding inches away from the rail that cut of the main highway. Before me was madman in his maruti Suzuki backing up on one of the feeder roads to return towards my way and concord towards his afternoon duties. He came into the service road like a truck and didn't see me coming  on my invisible motorbike. I tried to swerve and miss him as he turned, he run into me like a matador. My life didn't flash before me, no! The collision sent me flying, I was superman over his bonnet. My motorbike was hit to the side and half its body parts lay on the road, as the oils dripped right out. It felt like it bled. I landed on my backpack full of books, They cushioned my fall and I rolled till my right foot thumped the ground and halted me. I got dazed, my eyes partially blind with glares floating before me. I could feel my ankle pulsating and like acid drops dripping onto me I felt agony from my dripping wounds.
I don't know where people came from to surround me, but a bunch of onlookers darted towards me and carried me to the side of the road. I could barely breathe and was overwhelmed by the crowd around me asking questions in Hindi that I didn't speak. a couple other fellows dashed for the culprit trying to make a run for it. They caught him and banged at his door till he came out of his car guilty and shamed for attempting to flee...

No comments:

Post a Comment