Green Signal Poem by vidyut chakraborty

An oak stick in hand, each step unbalanced, curly hairs cluster,
the blind man ask mildly - road clear?
A mercedes speeds away,
its chauffeur peeps out and say Ya.
The blind man smiles and his stick steps ahead
and the question recurs -is route clear?
A petty politician shows him way and whispers
poor man, now it is clear.
Affluent trader, on a try to spit chewed-pan, barks-
what do you mean by 'Clear'?
The poor blind man apologize to him and again put query
is the signal green?
Some one advances, perhaps a street beggar,
came from the age of century-old astonishment
and holds his hand-
surprising all, yell in pitch -
Nothing is clear, no signal post,
all roads now end in darn blind lanes,
corruption tolls, injustice jams every crossing,
mistrust light in each signal and you fool man asking all
if our way is clear?
Ha ha ha ha.....
the blind man laughs, as if the laughter slaughters.
The road signal suddenly become green
the man tells the beggar-
Yes my sir, I feel right now the road has become clear.