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Western Ghats

Protesting, strain motor engines scream,

bearing torque, outside of bends

edge-fenced by cliff-hang fall

outstripping unbroken unspaced trucks in line.


Not losing face, or screen, but hooting lean,

as calling on the dashboards’ garland gods,

to slip them back in pack again

the drivers vent, exhaust their fumes.


Bravado's wrecks raze valley floor,

reek, with jasmine hint, the strangest fuel.

Silver years on, road rites comply,

so first-time travellers adopt

hooded view, climbing Western Ghats

to Pune from Mumbai, stale breathing with

grocer's paper bag encasing head,

custom in follow weeks suspend.


Previously Published by Softblow

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