A Trafficked Image

Pushing.

Pulling

Holding.

Screaming.

Eight people in a jiffy

with their hands figthing for balance

on each other and the handles of the scooter

scooting away in speeds

speeding through the highway

higher and higher; the needle

needling back and forth

as they fought over an inch of space.

 

Shrieking.

Balancing.

Falling.

Stopping.

The scooter stopped as everyone fell

falling over each other as blood splashed

splashing on the road; all around

Cars deviated and sped away

as they gasped for that final bit of space.

~Freida

I have always looked at the roads and its contents as a metaphor of the planet we live in. The cars honking, the smoke rising, the overtaking, the filthy abuses that follow a mistake in turning, the accidents that happen and so on. So while I was sitting in a taxi, a family of five were travelling right beside me and something about the way they kept shuffling in the seat made me think about the human species and our fight over space and power. This is how this poem came to be…

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