DRIVE

Some poems on driving

I love driving my car, in traffic, in highways, on bad roads. I just itch for a ride. It is almost therapeutic. I become one with the machine and my focus amplifies. Making it almost meditation in a way. I especially relish driving during late evenings and early nights, on highways, with medium traffic. These are two small — simple, but liminal poems, I wrote on driving during the dying hours of the day.

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(I)

Dusky roads, under the purple evening skies.

Dusty roads, gleaming reflectors and yellow signs.

Empty roads, as the day flips into the night.

So empty roads, as I turn on my headlights.

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(II)

Street lights flash.

The Zebra crosses the road, zig-zag.

The reflectors shine and glimer like jewels under my headlight.

Why does the tar and concrete become so poetic,

only at night?

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