I wrote for a lot of people.... How can I not write for them? These guys take me to around, make me think along the way ... about this thing I have to say
Call this an Ode or call this a satire,
To the three-wheeling community,
Who stir the traffic-al quagmire...
Every new day in Bangalore city.
The first mile costs a mere Ten buck,
But it takes grit to ensure a recount.
For every client is high-muck-a-muck
To be on the deadly auto-man's mount...
Once paid for, they promise you a ride,
A journey through roads less travelled.
But the destination is for him to decide,
However much you may seem hassled...
Sometimes they rate you, by the face,
Seeking their preys, in the morning rush,
You'll be nailed, if, of the High Tech race...
Your pockets barren.. his meadows plush !
It's better to be with him, than around,
It's better to take the rock with the roll...
He'll be behind with nasty horn to sound
If not on the side, edging out of control !
Blaring new songs, boastful of movie stars,
At least a thousand of them can be found,
With jarring noise, and a silencer farce...
How is it hard to break the barrier to sound?
A mouthful of swear-words are his stakes,
All day long in the gambling with his wrists,
Clutching the gear and holding his brakes,
On crazy maneuvers along bends and twists .
And yet he's here, seeking opportunities,
And yet his is an endearing tale to tell,
Of a small town man, bewildered by the cities,
Who's brought along his dreams to sell !
He is a cheat only as much as me,
His is a story only as much as mine ...
He maybe lost in the future we foresee ...
With his departure as a metropolis' sign !
