Sunday, March 13, 2011


You can hear the hush fall
Over the city on Sunday evening,
The roosting birds whisper
On trees yielding to the night,
The road looks broader
Than during the week days
When you can hardly see down it
The odd vehicle plies leisurely
Savouring the ride;
Even the feet know
There is no need to hasten
At least till morning
When the city
Will wake up with a jolt
And start screaming
"I am late!"

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