The Barren Land

I drove past barren banned land,

Found none but recks and rats,

Path primitive and lamps dead,

Road tattered and terrain felt,

Moving past abandoned huts,

There lie wood and trash,

And, presence of peril past,

My motor bike groaned,

As forcame rocks and cracks,

I doged the peculiar curved cracks,

And crossed the throng of rocks,

My bag nodded up and down,

Down came a dead dragon,

Drifted few metres with unsteady steer,

And braked with sheer shaky slide,

Walked few miles down the shaggy road,

Saw rusty truck by my side,

Stuffed with raw metal and thermite,

I stepped of the tattered track,

And walked bare on dusty land,

I savaged fuel and handy matter,

From the rusty truck that lie at a side,

Found two bottle and a helmet,

And walked back to my harley bike,

The land was dead and had no life,

So i guess it was safe to ride back,

And spare the awful quietness of wrath,

Which in vain was monument of past.