Mock Epic: The Labyrinth Of Endless Lanes Poem by ashok jadhav

Sing, O Horn, whose wails pierce the mortal heart,
Of Heroes trapped within the cursed Labyrinth of Traffic,
Where roads twist like serpents, lights flash as false guides,
And Time drags its heels through endless asphalt halls.
Behold the Mortal, hands clenched upon the steering wheel,
Eyes burning from battle with sun and taillights.
Engines roar like dragons, brakes scream like banshees,
And fellow travelers—strangers and foes alike—
Jockey for advantage, weaving like cunning thieves.
The Minotaur of Delay lurks in every intersection,
Red lights its teeth, congestion its mighty claws.
Detours rise like dead-end walls,
And GPS, that oracle of false hope,
Whispers riddles in turn-by-turn prophecy,
Leading Heroes in circles through the concrete maze.
The Horns clash like swords, curses fly like arrows,
While patience, the hero's only shield, thins with every mile.
Yet some persevere, mapping routes like cunning Theseus,
Finding paths through chaos, avoiding potholes, ambushes, and endless stops.
At last, the city's edge appears, gates of liberation open,
And Heroes emerge battered, exhausted, victorious.
The Labyrinth remains, eternal and absurd,
Waiting to trap the next mortal soul in its cursed, wheeled embrace.
Thus ends the epic of Traffic Jams,
Where courage is measured not in swiftness, but endurance,
And every journey through asphalt and brake lights
Is immortalized in the annals of commuting legend.