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