Almost gypsy like they travel,
Just enough time to relax the fatigued joints
And sooth the cries of the churning stomach,
They rest awhile
To start again.
Beaming through the night,
The headlights tearing the darkness,
Flashes and flickers of a sleepy hamlet
Nestled amongst the undulating hills,
The sole witness to their march,
The whirring wheels seldom.screech to a halt.
The clamour of their voices,
The childish fights of the newly weds,
Their only companion.
They wave goodbye to
The solitary farmer, caressing his first produce,
The goatherd struggling to chastise his flock,
The lone buffalo sunbathing,
The troop of monkeys running amock .
Day and night jostle to
Attract their attention,
Yet they zoom ahead in gay abandon,
Unaware and unconcerned
Creating their own rhythm
Weaving stories as they move..