On The Wheels

The day was full of youth,

The weather crisp;

The breeze swift.

The busy airs pulling my hairs

In series of rises and falls.

The day was full of youth,

I sat muttering as each car zoomed off.

First, the flat faced Sienna screeched,

Then the Mercedes rattled along

The sett outfitted road.

I waved. A fellow hissed.

I waved. A fellow yelled,

“Whose time do you want to waste?”

Because I rest on the wheels.

The day was full of youth,

Cars fraughted the dual carriage,

The air abuzz with sounds.

But cars were scarce.

Scarce.

Because I rest on the wheels.

A bus drifted away,

I waved. A fellow stretched out a string

Of five fingers;

A curse to crown the offer,

“Who will fold that chair of yours?”

Same question I have had to answer.

“It’s a rickety bus anyway,” I retorted,

Squirming with a familiar irritation,

Like an eel on bare land.

It was all sour grapes in block alphabet,

Scripted on the pages of frustration.

My mysery is my opium,

My path is dark,

No tinge of light,

No glimmer of hope.

The cab is for passengers.

I am a passenger. I am the wheels.

The cab is not for me,

They said I will waste their time,

Because I rest on the wheels.

I must leave now,

The sun is already peeping

Through the leaves.

He shrugged his shoulder,

He took an eyeshot of my face,

Then my crushed limbs;

He shrugged to finish the ritual,

Because I rest on the wheels.