How the parking space wrestles out of the morning gloom -
From the dinghy interiors that stare in silence
They await the morning rush hour
With the stomping of a rushed-up man
The clicking sound, that reverberates
The Whirring noise that kickstarts its day
To cross past the bays, those channels, the constricted
To get out into the open, to blast, to puff
And return to the silence yet again
If my mind too would turn
To marshal those thoughts, to let their train out
To space out from this clutter,
And, when they would come homing back, by eventide
They would nestle in my mind-space
Like the tired birds of flight
Who had sought the horizon and, seen it trace!
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