Migratory Birds

HOUR FOUR-

 

8.45am: At Subway

Waiting for the train with a cup of coffee,

salted bagel and a book in my hand.

I peered around me.

People of all sorts, shapes, sizes and with different appetites wait. To reach their destination.

My stare now pinned on the man who looked different.

 

A bearded man with a different skin tone and mysterious aura sits

alone at the far end of the train trolley.

His singular identity created a vacuum around us; engulfing us and subway

Everything seems drawn into that void- nameless frowns,

profane remarks, uncourteous smirks, and fearful scorns.

My stare now pinned on the man who looked different.

 

The bearded man shoe worn-out from the long journey

His eyes wearied from the sadness and longing

no shades, no paraphernalia, and no gimmicks

his ‘unrelenting’ demeanor was unfazed with ‘inquisitive’ eyes hovering over him,

piercing stares, and unfriendly faces.

His singular identity created a vacuum around us; engulfing us and subway.

 

There were furrows in his turban; he must have pleated

all housewarming gifts, legacies and discriminations neatly into it.

His wings were flaccid resembling wings of a migratory bird

His eyes were wearied from the sadness and longing

waiting for seasons transition to journey homeward.

Homecoming birds were washing all their sins in the holy water.

 

I peered around me.

People of all sorts, shapes, sizes and with different appetites wait. To reach their destination.

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.

2 thoughts on “Migratory Birds

  1. Love this section:
    “There were furrows in his turban; he must have pleated
    all housewarming gifts, legacies and discriminations neatly into it.
    His wings were flaccid resembling wings of a migratory bird
    His eyes were wearied from the sadness and longing
    waiting for seasons transition to journey homeward.
    Homecoming birds were washing all their sins in the holy water.”

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