The Street
Streets jumps from
The blind, deaf and dumb night
To the dutiful activeness.
The eyes of the street
Opens to the crowd
As the blossom
Unfurl its petals to the beetles.
The street,
All throughout its life,
Clings its eyes to the throng
Sharpens its ears to the vestige
The crowd, the trot
That passes have distinct sweetness.
The footsteps that rings with the anklet
Of the calm, young ladies
Is an adornment
To its flow of life.
The harshness of the
Busy steps
Marks strong scars
In the iota of each grit
The lane undergo
A vibration
Due to the grief
Of the orphan,
The widow, the helpless
And so on.
The avenue
Is the home for
The homeless,
Is the stake
For the old,
Is helping hand
For the helpless,
Is the husband
For the widow,
Is the father
For the orphan.
Its everything
For everyone.
The acts of the pathway
Is never ending,
It crosses the universe
And even the heaven.
And the street says,
“ I will be there
Unless you turn your
Face from me”
To all who give it a touch.
Copyright © Ashly Raju | Year Posted 2013
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