Friday, August 3, 2012

In Transit


Between the paranoia over security
And the head rush of take off
Lies a fragrant corridor, of tax free scents
Where breathing suddenly becomes easy
Like clouds after precipitation,
We look fluffy and light
Old ladies, with wrinkled hands
(How do you fit three rings on one finger?)
Open paper backs with mascara eyes
Bored dads with empty strollers
People sitting around power points
Like baited fish, giving me odd looks
As I write with my ball point
In a totally organic, three dimensional notebook
Eyes everywhere, locking and unlocking
Sometimes, predictably, turning into a brilliant smile
It is easy to make friends in transit
Perhaps because we all share that feeling
Of a deliciously suspended and utterly aimless moment!