Shame rises like a fetid odour
around certain kinds of death,
The type that exposes
the innate nakedness
of a beating mammalian heart.
Would it matter less if it were amphibian
or a cold blooded other?
Plainly rhetorical musing …

I drive past mountains …
a casually heaped
blanket of green,
backdrop to concrete vistas
of human industry.
An anomaly…
yet, perfectly sheltering
such mortals habituated
to viridescent places, sparkling brooks
tannic creeks and dim undergrowth,
lofty dishevelled trees …

And is it an idle curiosity
that makes them leave
these nurturing spaces?
limiting spaces …
limited spaces …
I wouldn’t know
Or would it matter to know?

For it lies there ,
that once robust heart
painted in unflattering hues
on sweltering tarmac …
Lost to the camouflage
of once salubrious woods
vainly appealing
to the insouciant gaze
of fleeting headlights.

Death and Goodyear
conspired to plot
across bitumen and asphalt
the two dimensional …
How does one graph
I ask no one in particular …
it’s plainly rhetorical …
Like death




📣▶️▶️▶️This poem has been featured in the Rising Phoenix Review

Roadkill By Davina E. Solomon

Death along a highway

It wasn’t long, 

before the midday sun 

glinted like pools of water,

along the coal tar road…


And then newer patches

of modern industry …

haphazardly connected roads

sewn together like pressed staples.


Incoherently; perhaps a myriad contractors

trying to communicate with each other

and never quite a straight path.

Years in the making and not there yet.


At a lonely stretch

alongside the massive divider

a tiny bony frame swaddled in a maroon sari

darkened further by the relentless sun.


How did she get there?

Was she riding pillion and fell?

Or was she hitching a ride?

And fell across the divider?


Perhaps the person/s with her 

needed no further encumbrances

so they left her there,

as testament to an unfinished road…

As seen enroute from Hampi to Goa; along the new highway that is being constructed piecemeal, for the past few years.