A Bump on the Road

A road had finally
broken through the copse.
It was not an uncertain
muddy meandering trail
but one metalled with
murderous intent.

Unheard sounds had
now taken root in the
heart of the thicket.
The insidious ivies of noise
had woven a gossamer of fear
around the wilderness.

Dread distended the dimensions
of four  yards.
Peeved by the scurrying
of furry little feet on its body
the road responded
with growl of engines
and whine of horns.

Then on one cold evening
when the wood was shivering
like a tramp in tatters
and the wind tossed about
the screaming colours of  autumn
and the cries of hunger
I found myself jogging on the road.

At a distance I saw a man negotiating
a bump on the road,
with his scooter trample the sod.
On approaching I found
it to be mongoose
still wedged
with a sliver of life.

Upon me could I feel
the glare of a host
of beady reproachful eyes
as I deliberated on its fate:
to be mangled with the road
or to die a slow agonizing death
in the nature’s fold.

I thought hard
before I pushed it off the road
and into the wild.
But not before I had heard
the susurrations in the air,
"vengeance on the road". 

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