The White Car Poem by Subhasish Barua

'What's to be done with it? ', asked the irascible driver,
it's tyres got corrupted, seat got scratched, steering got unhooked,
it only went, but how? It did not know, neither it's ruler....

A child was crying for a drop of milk to his shattered mother,
gazed at the white car and shook his hand,
the mother went, put het breast in to his mouth,
gently patted his head, stopped his anger....

Standing afar at the corner of the street,
the white car, paled by dust and mud,
silently dropped his tears, and wished to have a mother....