No Oil Burns the Lamp




What cart is this?
what Roman or Ancient Red Indian Shaped
carriage, royal or classic or roaming on the range
where the buffaloes run
where horses gallop rough
and race the stagecoach strange;
where for miles no soul can be seen
where cries of YUHOO , Hiyaah
sound in the valley
with snapping cracks of the whip;
where shooters hide in the alley
but now tis silent
still and cold, where is the coachman
brave and bold, no horses no reins
no travellers for the gains,
parked aside in red and white,
yet, its grandeur still abides.
‘Away Away, no horses neigh
No oil burns the lamp, bright-
I do see a group huddled n hooded
rubbing their hands,long boot footed,
what plans , what journeys, what rides
A mystery masks the man in the dark
and so is the silent empty carriage, parked.


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