Hardik Vaidya (26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)
It has been raining.
Sloshing through the alleys of my mind.
I fall into an open drain hole,
Yell at the municipality folks,
The shout drowns as I go down,
The tube of darkness to you tube,
I scramble up, gather my little senses,
Look for lost glasses, find reflections.
I trudge on, this road is wider.
It's still raining.
I wonder why no soul is in sight.
Where are the street lights?
There is no LED yet its as bright as your eyes can be.
The road seems endless, I am hungry,
I wonder where is my car? Why am I walking?
Where is the food joint? Where is a sign board?
Suddenly it opens into a dense forest,
It is still raining.
I decide to take a little rest,
Sit down, turn into a mushroom,
And am waiting.
Comments about this poem (Mushroom by Hardik Vaidya )
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