The Highways

The road that these tyres run, Ends nowhere, straight and long, The drizzle at the windscreen, The wipers move fast to clean. The teak trees on the north south highway, Grown thicker year by year, bougainvillea, At the divider dwarfed to bloom as required, Genetically modified plants, shrubs and flowers. Push that button to open the window, The fragrant wind enters and rejuvenates, The sun hides behind the mountain range, Sprinkles the free gold dust everywhere. Looking through the sunshade and sunglass, The fire ball glows as the thirsty lass, To tie her beautiful fringe and fire logs, Curved seven colors of ribbon plot. Miles of palm plantation have young plants, Red fruits of palm cluster hang to be cut, The foreign workers travel in the lorries, To work in the vegetable farms, snoring, At the rattling of the engines, have peace, And hope of having money from this land. The snakiest roads are straightened, No more hair pin bends and windings, Universal sign boards on the highways, Hidden by the trees that planted. When we go up the hill, We can feel the pain in the ears, When we come to the flat land, Pain will go and we will be stunned.