ASPHALT: KENNETH LOBO Kenneth Lobo is a Senior Reporter with the Mumbai Newsline, Indian Express. He looks for people, places, music, food and films at the fringes of society in the hope of sharing the discovery of something new, something alternative. Poetry, travel and deejaying (as an art and lifestyle) are his passions. He has spent the last three months attempting to draft a concept note for his book on the nightlife of Mumbai. Next Poem:....................................................................................................................................... Back to Poetry Index

Asphalt has such divine qualities,
that even signal poles stuck in them
tell the future. Irony, best
left to colors on a pedestal. If red
is for you, then you are the matador
that turned his back on the heifer,
as if a piece of cloth swished westward
was enough to hurt its pride. How did that
horn in your waist feel; you gathered
the flowing corpuscles with such marmalade eyes.
If green is for me, you must have read
the signs early. So many directions
in so many legends & languages. Yet, you strutted
like a knight in the tower of Babel
with his helmet clipped on too tight,
crashing the walls around us,
until the dust was in everyone's eyes.
Now you say, the Emperor of your kingdom
belittled my size, that I should have given you
more tries. Did you expect me without armor?
Now you plant a rose in cement, and expect
iron embraces to be so full of feeling.
While we were on the concrete searching
for clues, the world turned, and totems from
our pasts no longer held meaning.
You were clutching at strands of hair,
but they belong to my barber.
So here we are - on separate wheels -
seat belts fastened and hands waving -
like a happy ending or a holiday -
asphalt dictating the future and colors,
the way we must go. But there are no
happy endings. Grief and guilt are swallowed
like tablets, washed down with water or a cola.
Body parts, like the heart, must recover in solitude,
and the mind, the mind has a mind of its own.

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