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Good Times a poem by Rajiv Lather |
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Dawn, magic city materializes from smoggy wasteland. Wide avenues lined with big black bubbling bottles, lead to leaning tower of pizza and not-so burgers. On low-roofed, trampoline-paved sidewalks our future, with oxygen sucking tobacco dangling from mouth smokes signals to the other side of life. As brazen as invisible lingerie, flux from opposite poles charges the air. Air so sharp, that hair in upturned noses traces history of spewing progress. With sun at its peak, roosters’ coops melt at sight of predatory felines. In the afternoons, mobile wombs coalesce in painting rooms, giving birth to picturesque masterpieces. Evenings and nights - hearing-aid bites and dark-glasses lights, in colliding collages of detached limbs, advertise a good time. |
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