Dinosaurs Peeping over Prison Walls

I don’t have to pinch myself to check if I  am alive   --                                                                                             Together we tread this ochre path in a convoy of mortuary vans.
We have no issues over stopping at the gas stations now and then for refuelling. 
Most of us rush to the rest rooms, a wise guy buys sachets of glucose at the counter --orange flavour,
He  tucks the stuff into his backpack and settles down in his black van, the sachets come with plastic straws which do not decay.
I button up my trousers and board mine.
The map on dash board shows the route, 
The blue line does not show the destination though.
I get this funny feeling the place is pretty close, not more than few months. 
It would be a calm place, a camp cot kind of thing,
Or at least a hard-surfaced concrete bench 
And a place to wash with tap water.
The needlessness for God is now clear in the glare of evening twilight 
Like fish spread on the beach sand of truth.
Fish cannot close  eyes, God seem to have made them that way. 
There is some kind of curiosity left on arc of their eyes.
It makes me wonder what have I lived for? 
I gloat over my prayers, the rituals I performed day in and day out,
The images trail like ocean clouds in the river of blue sky.
My piety seem unreal at this point of time, all my piety
The vans stop at the toll gate following sombre lane discipline, 
The wise old man’s van too stops, CO2 from it spews next to mine.
He lifts and shows one of the sachets, 
Takes a small sip from it and explains over the window, 
“Time and energy is all misspent”, then takes a large sip,
His eyes squint to see where the straw enters the small hole.
I see his Adam’s apple rising and levelling, “Piety is of no use after we pass brother, it always come to that, all things in our life.”

“Belief in afterlife is stupid”, I tell the old man to keep the conversation going.
“I never had a chance to ask  dinosaurs how it came into extinction.”
He likes the way I speak with perennial eyes,  offers me a sachet through the window and expresses alignment, 
“True, the last of the dinosaurs died 65 million years ago. You know if the dinosaur had souls, those too would have died.”
This way he tries to prove souls hang around though eventually they die.
I think he invests in the concept of soul to prolong his own life after death.
His ticketing is done, the van starts ahead.
My soul died at birth,  the inevitability of death sticks on the wall
Like  residue of the gums left by Bollywood posters, 
Snatched and eaten by the city bovines.
My mom told me that the only protein city cows get is from the glue, 
She also  kept telling that milk of the city cows smell of the wheat adhesive. 
Mom is gone and she won’t be watching, all that she has taught too is gone. 
It is not about God or religion or even atheism, 
It’s about us, the dinosaurs peeping over the prison walls.