Traffic, Pune, India Poem by Raymond Farrell

I recall
The confusion
And delight of it all
Mercedes limousines, camels, elephants,
Donkey carts, motorized riskshaws, rickshaws
Motorcycles, bicycles, buses and cars
And who knows what
All going down the road together
Heat like a blast furnace
Dust swirling like a storm
Everyone crowding in together
Lanes if they exist
Are a figment
Of someone's imagination
Horns blaring
But nobody gives anyone the finger
There are no signs of road rage
With this amount of bedlam
All the rage is drowned
Before it gets to the surface
If there are traffic rules
The book they are written in
Has been burned long ago
I loved it
The place
The people
The sounds
The smells
The colors
The ancient monuments
Because it was alive and vibrant
And as stark as it was
With its extremes and
Gut wrenching poverty
In places
It was real
Unlike
The mindless rubbish
People
Waste their lives
Watching on TV.