Dug, bared, ripped

Stony wilderness

Lying obscene in its nudity,

Trudged, dragged, wounded to the core.

“Is that my destiny?” I ask you.

You, who constantly use me,

Ride upon me,

Fall upon me,

“Do you ever think of my fate?”

Rudely you undress me

Shamelessly you char me

With burning tar and mortar

Road rollers to liven, enliven me

“What happens then?”

Some dig me to erect tents

Some to lay a pipeline or a cable,

Some for no rhyme or reason;

Immature roads built in haste

To loot and fill coffers against my prestige

Then down comes the rain

 To cover up their dishonesty

And lo and behold!

“I am gutted into suicidal gutters,”

Ready to resurrect and built again

For another seasonal shower

                                                    ~Shobha Diwakar

                                                    Jabalpur, India