Tyres got past shoes

In the era of bullet trains and planes
In the city of glamour and fame
Smashed beneath the tyres
The city road craved for shoes.
But gone were the days
Of long walks in rain.
At the fall of dawn
There came an old friend
Without shoes but with footsteps
Without words but with talks
The dog wagged his tail
As he sat by the sidewalk.
He laid in the wintery cold
With eyes lost in lacuna
As if waiting for someone.
He gazed at the tyres
And the rarely seen shoes
All in the marathon
To reach somewhere and then
Start off again
He talked to the road
Recited it a few couplets
On the grief they shared both
The road listened and listened
But not a word was heard by anyone
Inter alia the honks and rows.

Chanchal Bagla