Those streets

Anshu Pandey

I've often traversed those streets.
Cars sleeping on one half;
The other half screaming in cacophony
As the little me meanders her way
Avoiding the many glances on me.
I've often traversed those streets
Where a brisk walk and a resulting fall
Does not invite a helping hand.
The paths are uneven. "Why are your heels so high?"
Artificial flowers are for sale on this land.
I've often traversed those streets
Glued to maps for the tiniest turn,
Squinting at the strange scorching streets.
My puzzled feet urges me to flee
Under the shade away from the sight of mangled meat.
I've often traversed those streets—
The broken ones, now closed for construction.
The intruders of sand would prick my feet.
It's been three years. Is it construction or destruction?
The other path consumes more time by all means.
I'd often traversed those streets
Where hawkers came to sell peanuts,
Where the black limping dog marked the start of the narrow lane,
Where the narrow lane served as the shade
As it led me to home where I'd unload my back-pain.
All these paths taken...
Perhaps a different street would have made a different me.
Which way to go now?
A path of freedom or the one stuck in maps.