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Posts Tagged ‘hurry’

Here, walks people

wasting not a second

navigating urgent missions.

Without halt, in cycles

coming to and from,

fast and slow. We walk

alongside the bobbing sea

of heads and shoulders.

 

There goes a man

who is in a hurry

to catch his train.

While the woman

will just be in time

to make it with an appointment.

Some guy chases a girl.

And a working mom

squeezing in the crowd while

talking on her mobile phone.

 

Like them,

this pavement

lay a mute witness

to strangers who make their way

onward to destinations-

to directions

precisely peg-marked

as milestones to life.

 

Turning left and right,

brushing past signals

and pedestrian crossings

colliding like busy ants.

Our back’s two steps ahead

to the ones whom we have left

behind. Existing as familiar

tourist walking our two legs

in an imaginary life machine.

No one notices the other.

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We fail to keep promises

just as we are used to

stare like goats. Upfront

confronting strangers.

 

Inside this hallowed cavern

with  a burden of care while  

we share those empty gaze.

Needing to belong.

 

We don’t even dare

to twitch a smile- as a sign.

Filling void spaces to fit.

Caged and restrained

 

our little freedom.

Moving and hurrying

to destinations, crowding

one way streets like ants.

 

Knee to knee. Side by side.

Wanting to repel, burst

into the open, running away

with the world past behind us.

 

We fail to stay as we are.

Outpacing each other.

Chasing the dust cleared

of promises we can’t keep.

 

Finding it hard to believe

it was only inches away,

that we ought to  try

mending this great divide.

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There was a time in our lives

when we thought of the raincloud

as omen, spoiling the day

for us to play in the open.

 

The rain fills the street canals like rivers.

And if it has stopped, then hurriedly,

we rip pages from our notepads

to make us- paper boats.

 

We were so young then.

 

We are fond of races. We will race to see.

Whose boat comes first crossing the finish line?

 

If our paper boats were like voyages

of our little dreams. Would it be?

I didn’t cross the finish line first.

As mine have wilted wet, moving slow.

 

I have to be content coming in

as number two, a  second placer.

You always come away as the victor

in almost every races we used to play.

 

We are not so young anymore.

 

The tough gets going and it’s me

who have stayed behind, year after year

bobbing at sea. Sailing the ocean because

I didn’t win. Crossing first the finish line.

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