ODE TO THE MOLUE

Oh brakeless colossus of the road!
Never tired of an overload
Bears like a hulk its crazy compartments thoroughly filled up
Even greedily to the roof top

Oh king of the express!Its rickety and haggard frame
Not a barrier to its fame
As it commands respect
From the road worthy elects

Its rider gazes with eyes blood-Shot
Syndrome of dry gin of several shots
Dishing out threats
With foul breathe

The commuters stuffed and packaged
Sometimes seeing the potholes on the expresssway
Through holes in punctured metallic floor
An omen of an imminent wreckage

As it towers high
As the king sitting on the throne of woes
With souls hanging from its wings
It devours in its own time

He never asks for his own share of the fares
From the greedy collectors
Neither does he care about their welfare
For he collects his bloody royalty in due time