At four
there is a flurry of steps
on the zebra crossing
the dead veins of the granite road
become live.
Tall shadows
of this city
darken the limed path
the forayed ways
that direct the rush of wheels
towards the halts
of nothingness.
There is a new speed
that the fire of passion
and the heat of starvation
has evolved
wheeled legs
and couched hips
broil in unrest
and the moist arms of this city
the breakers and zebras
raise humble resistance
but to fall.
Life sticks to rites
under the whirls of death.
Harish k. Thakur
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-unrest/
