36 Seconds At 36 Lights Poem by Elisha Chhabra

Sky, brightened
of the pitiless sun
scorching, so distressing.
I stop at the 36's red light
and I see
Little Jhonny tied up
in the school dress and hefty bag
on the future shoulders of nation,
tender yet, looks for his mom.
While the dark man with
wrinkles crossing the face
and eyes tired enough
to narrate the agonies of his life,
arrests the motion of his rickshaw.
Jhonny when already taken away by his mom.
The blue dressed cop
stands at the round top
controls the city traffic
trying to make it little pacific,
yet fails to catch
the chauffeur driven Range Rover
that jumps the light at an eye blink
disturbing the coal
burned by the lady selling corn
who sits right there
with hopes so fair
handles a baby in her lap
keeping her little business at a gap.
It hits me so bad, that
It's all a race,
of money, black
and white.
Not among each other,
but with oneself.
It's about little johnny's school dreams
of becoming a big man someday.
The rickshawman's impulse
to get someone to give ride to.
The traffic cop getting paid,
for taking stress of city's traffic.
The rich Rover man still craving,
less for life but for money
stuck somewhere he's heading to.
The corn lady's hopes
for better economic tomorrow.
and it's about me too,
getting back from some business tutions
where we learn to earn big someday.
Before that deep needed thought,
The light goes green,
the race continues.