Highway Blues

At 3 in the morning
at a bus stop:

amid mosquito bites,
buzzing insects,
train announcements,
police sirens,
staring policemen,
snarling dogs,
hum of truck wheels rolling on the highway,
and the stink of a fellow traveller’s feet,

sleep is desired like cure for the sick;

all in the city where Ashoka fought the battle of Kalinga –
the city which refused to provide lodgings
to two weary travellers on the road
for 65 hours,
at 2 in the night.

Here,
regret comes like diversions
on a highway.

I should have never,
in the first place,
left the comfort and warmth of her
home-like arms.

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