Spot an empty seat,
I hunt for my ticket to isolation
As I put the earphones in my ears,
I buy a real ticket
Rs. 9; Wasn't it 13 just yesterday?
The bus fills up
A large old lady takes the last seat
Next to me.
I shift closer to the window
Trying to make up for the lack of space
That she left me on the seat we shared.
Muffled voices,
Distant names of nearby places.
Next to me, the old lady falls asleep
I stare out the window,
Humid air hits our faces.
Within the bus
The air thickens
Congested by the combined smells
Of the day's worn scents and sweat.
A baby cries, I sigh.
The music in my ears
Picks up pace.
Adding dramatic effect,
Opera reaches the climax.
I look at the man sitting in the front.
He's on his phone,
A worried look on his face.
He could just as well be
Starring in a movie I was watching
The background music in my ears
Did his act justice.
Song changes
So does the main character
As the bus journeys on,
I enter, unwittingly, into the lives
Of so many strangers
Learning bits about them
As I silently witness
Them act out their lives
To the perfectly orchestrated
Music I hear.
Next stop.
More people enter
Standing, they push their way,
Falling into our combined reality.
Some make their way out
From my window
My eyes follow the worried man
As he walks away, with his reflection
(In the puddle from last night's rain)
Leaving behind in the bus, only
Sweaty evaporations as evidence
That he was there.
Conductor blows the whistle
We move. More people, more acts.
Unable to keep track of the multitudinous stories
I close my eyes
Behind my own mask.
I wake up to
A new face beside me.
I hadn't even seen the old lady leave
Yet she was snatched away from my reality
And what was left of her?
Not even her mark upon the seat.
Last stop.
The crowd rushes to the doors,
The whistle blows,
I tug the earphones out of my ears.
The sudden silence dissipates us
Into numerous fragments of existence
No longer part of each others' lives.
The sounds of horns and engines take over
And we are lost again.
So, I usually dislike writing poetry but I just felt that this piece would work like this. Not a big fan of rhyming, structured poetry (at least not writing it), I thought I'd make my own style of rather random and absurd prose-poetry. I hope it worked!
I hunt for my ticket to isolation
As I put the earphones in my ears,
I buy a real ticket
Rs. 9; Wasn't it 13 just yesterday?
The bus fills up
A large old lady takes the last seat
Next to me.
I shift closer to the window
Trying to make up for the lack of space
That she left me on the seat we shared.
Muffled voices,
Distant names of nearby places.
Next to me, the old lady falls asleep
I stare out the window,
Humid air hits our faces.
Within the bus
The air thickens
Congested by the combined smells
Of the day's worn scents and sweat.
A baby cries, I sigh.
The music in my ears
Picks up pace.
Adding dramatic effect,
Opera reaches the climax.
I look at the man sitting in the front.
He's on his phone,
A worried look on his face.
He could just as well be
Starring in a movie I was watching
The background music in my ears
Did his act justice.
Song changes
So does the main character
As the bus journeys on,
I enter, unwittingly, into the lives
Of so many strangers
Learning bits about them
As I silently witness
Them act out their lives
To the perfectly orchestrated
Music I hear.
Next stop.
More people enter
Standing, they push their way,
Falling into our combined reality.
Some make their way out
From my window
My eyes follow the worried man
As he walks away, with his reflection
(In the puddle from last night's rain)
Leaving behind in the bus, only
Sweaty evaporations as evidence
That he was there.
Conductor blows the whistle
We move. More people, more acts.
Unable to keep track of the multitudinous stories
I close my eyes
Behind my own mask.
I wake up to
A new face beside me.
I hadn't even seen the old lady leave
Yet she was snatched away from my reality
And what was left of her?
Not even her mark upon the seat.
Last stop.
The crowd rushes to the doors,
The whistle blows,
I tug the earphones out of my ears.
The sudden silence dissipates us
Into numerous fragments of existence
No longer part of each others' lives.
The sounds of horns and engines take over
And we are lost again.
So, I usually dislike writing poetry but I just felt that this piece would work like this. Not a big fan of rhyming, structured poetry (at least not writing it), I thought I'd make my own style of rather random and absurd prose-poetry. I hope it worked!
Totally worked! "I hunt for my ticket to isolation
ReplyDeleteAs I put the earphones in my ears." Brilliance. :')
Having traveled by bus with my music always on, this whole thing is so relatable, yet so unfamiliar because each bus ride is different. It almost seems like you wrote this while on the bus, everything is described so well. Give this to Manjula Ma'am as an example of show don't tell :P
I've missed you on here :']
ReplyDeleteHaha, thank you. I did sort of think of some lines while on the bus, actually.
Relatable, yet unfamiliar? That's pretty much what I was trying to day about the people too.
I just read this again. I don't know if I've told you this, but I have a "bus playlist" :D
ReplyDelete